


Gasoline

by JCMadGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Alastair (Supernatural), Alastair (Supernatural) Being an Asshole, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, BDSM, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Bondage, Bottom Dean, Car Sex, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean in Panties, Dildos, Dom Castiel, Edgeplay, Emotionally Constipated Dean, Emotionally Hurt Dean, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Former Prostitute Dean, Former Stripper Dean, Handcuffs, Homophobic Language, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Gabriel, Hurt Sam Winchester, I'm Sorry, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Marks, Multi, Nightmares, Painter Castiel (Supernatural), Panic Attacks, Panties, Panty Kink, Past Alastair/Dean Winchester, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Sam Winchester, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sam Ships It, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Sub Dean, Sub Dean Winchester, The Author Regrets Nothing, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, bless you Castiel, boi - Freeform, dom Cas, everybody is in pain tbh, except the ending, honestly dean is such a needy bottom, honestly so much smut, i don't know what happened, it got real dark real quick, so many kinks, that's pure ANGST, this is a mess, this is pretty much porn tbh, where do I start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-11-10 04:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 87,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCMadGirl/pseuds/JCMadGirl
Summary: Dean's life has never been easy. All the crap he has been through left him more broken than what he likes to admit.So it's really not a surprise that he drowns everything in booze and meaningless sex with strangers. Dean doesn't do relationships. Dean is every lady and gentleman's wet dream. He's the perpetual bachelor.Enter Castiel, hot painter and sex-on-legs.This was supposed to be a collection of smutty one-shots, BUT the plot just kinda appeared. I swear I have no control over this. Also, it got dark real quick. Most of the chapters can be read as one-shots, but in the end you'll get the angst.





	1. Eyes closed

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I would just like to say that my first language is not english, so I apologize in advance fro the mistakes that surely will be there. Anyway, the first couple of chapters will be kinda slow, but I swear it gets better.  
> No warning for this chapter.

_I, I know where to play_  
_I know what to say_  
_It’s all the same_  
_And I, I know how to play_  
_I know this game_  
_It’s all the same_

“Cas!” you don’t even look up from your canvas. Gabriel breaks into your room as a hurricane. –Cassie!” he shouts taking the painting brush from your hands. He, as usual, looks like if a box of colors threw up on him, with his glittery orange jacket, bright pink shirt and yellow pants.  
He grins, popping the lollipop out of his mouth.  
“Gabriel!” you protest. “Give it back!”  
“Go wear something elegant, Cassie! I'm taking you out from this place!”  
“What?”  
“Yup! Me and Balth are going to a party, and you I, I know where to play _will_ come with us.”  
“Excuse you, I’m not going anywhere.” Gabriel grabs your arm and pull you up.  
“No, Gabe. Seriously, I don’t want to go out.”  
“When was the last time you actually go out from your apartment?” you roll your eyes.  
“Why does it matter?”  
“Almost two weeks ago. It’s time to get some fresh air.”  
“Gabe.” He smiles, still holding your arm.  
“Come on, Cassie, just one night. You’ll be okay. You really need to get out from this place.”  
“I really don’t.”  
“You do. You start smelling like dead. Seriously, man.”  
“Gabe-”  
“I know you like this little hole you call house, but you need to get some fresh air and human contact.”  
“I hate human contact.”  
“I know. Just a little bit, just for tonight. Can you this for me? I really care about this.”  
“I didn’t think you could actually care about something but yourself.”  
“I’m a man full of surprise! I have been haired in that fancy Hotel I told you about, and there’s going to be this charity party thingy and I have to be there and I want you and Balth to be there too.”  
“Why?”  
“Moral support?” You sigh, because you knew that this would have ended like this.  
“I hate you.”  
“You love me.”  
“Shut up, before I change my mind and kick your ass out of my house.” and Gab laughs, patting your shoulder.  
“I knew you weren’t a completely disperate case, Cassie!” you roll your eyes, moving towards your room to wear something decent. “Wear something sexy, Cassie! My boss is hot!”  
“Shut up!”  
  
So you really don’t want to do this.  
“Can I just stay here?”  
“Nope.”  
“But why? You don’t need me down there!” you said waving your hands.  
“I do! Dean this is a really important night.”  
“I know, Sammy. Charity party, important people, and bla bla bla. You told me this stuff like a billion times, I got this, trust me.”  
“Yeah, exactly. Have a shower and prepare yourself.”  
“I’m tired.” you say against your pillow. You know you’re in late for whatever you’re suppose to do tonight, but you’re still hangover from getting drunk last night with Benny. You two probably should stop doing this stupid things but you don’t really care. You’re gonna regret it when your liver will show you the bill, _but._  
“I don’t care. Stop being this lazy and do something with your life.” you open your mouth to say something but Sam precedes you. “And _no_ , go out and have sex with some random people doesn’t count.” You glare at him.  
“Bitch.”  
“Jerk.” but then you get up.  
  
“I think I’m drunk.” Balth literally falls on the stool near you, raising an hand to order another drink.  
“You’re drunk the eighty percent of your time.”  
“Yeah, but now I am _really_ drunk. Like with vertigo and all of that shit. I haven’t been this drunk in a while.” he says, scuffing the words. He chuckles, running an hand through his blonde hair.  
“Don’t dare throwing up on me, Balth. I’ll kill you.” He completely ignores you, laughing for something he only knows.  
“Another shot!” he shouts at the bartender behind you. The red-haired girl gives you a look before serving Balth another shot of what looks like vodka.  
“Stop drinking as a camel.” and again you don’t receive any answer. You just shake your head, while Balth drink his vodka in only one sip.  
The hall you are in it’s big. It’s really huge, and it’s sparkling. Shimmering.  
The floor is made by white and ocher, polished marble. Expensive. The wall are painted with a sort of cream color. The big windows which give access to the garden have embroidered, golden curtains. At the centre of the high ceiling there’s this huge chandelier made of crystals. The lights are soft, waiters in smoking walk around serving champagne and food to the guests.  
Everybody is drinking, or dancing, or both.  
_The Winchester’s Hotel._  
That’s the name. The name of this important chain of hotels, so fancy. They started from nothing and in a bunch of years they had become one of the most popular place to spend the vacancies or whatever.  
Luxurious. Exaggerated. Shimmering.  
You let your eyes roam on the whole hall, watching the different people around you. You ask yourself what kind of person they are.  
What they hide behind that expensive dress and smoking, their secrets, their fears. You can see a woman forcing her smile while she talks to a men she clearly doesn’t like. A waiter glaring at another man who just dropped his glass.  
You lost Gabriel some times ago. Balth stands up, walking as a drunk man walk. Unsteadily.  
Then something happens. On the top of the flight of steps covered with a red carpet a man appears.  
“Cassie, he is there.”  
“Who is he?”  
“Dean Winchester. Sam’s brother.”  
“So?”  
“He has a certain…reputation.”  
“What reputation?” Balth grins. You look at him. And you just stare, because he’s beautiful. That man is fucking drop dead gorgeous. He really his. Even from that distance you notice his beautiful face, broad shoulders, sharp jaw.  
He’s wearing a suit, his white shirt out of his pants, first two button undone. No tie. His dirty-blond hair are messy, and he’s smiling. Well, it’s not like a real smile. It’s more like a sort of smirk. And he just watches around him, to the people down the stair, satisfied.  
At his side appears who you suppose is Sam Winchester and, surprisingly, Gabriel. He has changed his clothes, and now he’s wearing a suit as well, which is totally weird and inappropriate on him.  
“What is Gabriel doing right there?”  
“Uhm…I think he’s like Sam’s assistant. He’s gonna bring him coffee and stuff while doing boring things. And Cas?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Stop drooling.” you blush immediately and tear your eyes from that Dean Winchester.  
“We should go home. _I_ should.”  
“Life is short, my friend. You don’t have time to lose.”  
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“Go and talk to him.”  
“Hell no.” Balth smirks again, looking behind your back. So you turn and then here they are. Gabriel, Sam and Dean.  
“Shit.” you curse, flinching, and all of them laugh.  
“So, Sam, Dean, this is my brother, Castiel, and our best friend, Balthazar. I hope you’re not too drunk to say hello.” Now that you’re close you can see how green Dean’s eyes are. Apple green, with gold dots, they shine bright like an emerald. Jesus, who gave him the right?  
“I’m-I’m not. Nice to meet you.” you find the voice to speak. You and the brothers shake hands, and then Dean is _still looking at you_. And why is he looking at you? You don’t like being watched. It makes you uncomfortable. But Dean’s eyes are like hypnothic and you can’t physically stop staring at them. It’s stronger then you.  
Then Balth elbows you, giggling. And you come back to the reality. You blush, looking away. It doesn’t last long, because then Dean call your name and you are watching his eyes again.  
“So Cas, what do you do?” he asks, that smirk still on his absolutely perfect and totally _porn_ lips. Jesus Christ, those lips should be illegal.  
Gabe and Sam are talking with Balth about something you don’t care about.  
“Cas?” you say, smiling a bit. He raises an eyebrow.  
“Your name is a bit of a mouthful. Is it a problem?”  
“No, it’s fine.”  
“Awesome, so what do you do in your life?”  
“Uh…I’m an artist.”  
“An artist?”  
“Yes, a painter specifically.”  
“And what do you paint?” he asks again, moving a little closer. You lean forward too, invading his personal space. You are totally attracted by him. And not in a chaste way.  
_Oh my God, what is happening?_  
“Whatever inspires me.”  
“And do you see something that you like?” he grins, running an hand through his hair. And _why do you have to look so sexy doing that?_ You smirk back.  
“Oh, I do.”  
  
You can’t actually believe of how lucky you are. And you thought that this would be boring. But thanks to some sex god, you met Castiel Novak. And apparently, he’s happy to see you too. He stares at you, a little smile on his lips, clearly checking you out. Definitely happy.  
Your gay-radar is going crazy.  
“What about me showing you the place?”  
“I’d like it very much.” he answers with his low and husky voice that makes you shivering.  
Jesus Christ this man screams sex from each pore of his skin. And surely you’re not gonna waste a chance of good sex. You order two glass of scotch and then turn.  
“This way.”  
  
The second Castiel close the door of you room behind himself, you throw yourself against his lips. Oh yeah, they are soft as you have imagined. You push him against the door, grinding on him. He grabs your hips, pulling you closer, tucking his cold hands under your shirt, touching your skin gently.  
But gentleness is not what you’re looking for. You take off his jacket, let it fall on the floor, and start to unbutton his shirt, ripping off the last two bottons. You kiss his neck, savoring the soft skin under his jaw.  
Then Cas pushes you back until you don’t fall on your own bed. And immediately he is above you, chest against yours, kissing you rougher this time, an hand in your hair and the other on your hip.  
And for as much as you like kissing him -and you really do, seriously, those lips will kill you- you want _more_. So you switch positions, and now he is beneath you. You grin.  
If all the artists are so good-looking and _available_ as Cas here, you definitely will start to go to that place at the end of the street for painters and company. You kiss his shoulder, his chest, his nipple. You bite it gently, licking it, while pulling the other one until both of them are red. Cas sighs, while you keep moving down, kissing his skin.  
Expertly you undone his pants too, you don’t even have to look, you have _a lot_ of experience.  
You can feel him holding his breath while you take off his boxers and pants all together. And finally you reach what you want. Cas’ cock is already half hard, and it takes you only a few on seconds of a quick handjob to get it fully hard. You have a certain talent. Again, you shouldn’t be so proud of it, but who cares.  
You bend to reach it with your mouth. You grab his hips, pressing him down to the mattress and you start licking his hard dick, from the base to the head a couple of time. When you take it all in your mouth, he gasps. You enjoy his weight on your tongue, looking up to see his so damn blue eyes completely wide and dark.  
“Fuck Dean, your mouth.” he moans, his deep voice that ends straight between your legs. He tugs at your hair. And then you swallow and he shivers, throwing back his head, moaning louder. So you do it again, enjoying that view, running your tongue over the prominent vein on the side of his cock.  
You would grin, really, if it wasn’t that your mouth is kind of busy.  
Cas instinctively thrusts up, holding you steady and _fucking_ your mouth. You relax your throat to take it completely, knowing that probably this is of the best blowjob he has ever received. There are not so many things better then Dean Winchester.  
“God, Dean, I’m- _ah_ \- I’m so close.” He moans, grabbing a handful of the sheets.  
And then you withdraw. He looks at you completely shocked and so outraged that you laugh. You bend again, grinding your erection still in you pants against his cock.  
“My mouth is not where you have to come, Cas.” you whisper straight in his ear, biting and pulling the lobe. Cas growls and switches the positions once again. He basically rips off you shirt and your pants, releasing you from the constriction of the cloth.  
“Jesus Christ, finally.” You moan, and Cas groans against your neck, biting and leaving a red mark you know won’t fade before a couple of days. Not that you’re displeased.  
“Lube. Condom.” he says. You take a breath, completely out of air.  
“Bedside table. Left.” somehow you answer. “Jesus, _hurry up_.” you want to feel him inside you _right now_. Every inch of your skin is burning with desire because of him.  
Quickly Cas takes the bottle and pours an abundant quantity of it on his fingers. He kisses you again, taking advantage of your open mouth and leaving you breathless. Your cock is painfully hard.  
You have never been so aroused in all of your damn life. Cas runs his finger, cold against your hot skin, on the pelvic bones, touching your hole and – _Jesus fucking Christ, thank you_ \- pushing in one finger. You bite his bottom lips, pulling it between your teeth while he moves the finger inside you.  
“Cas.” you call. “I’m not a fucking virgin.” you rock back on his hand, looking for more. You see him blushing a bit and you smirk, then Cas finally adds another finger, scissoring them and stretching your ass. When he puts in the third one all of your body shivers and tenses. You moans out loud, holding on to his shoulders and throwing back your head, while he fucks you with his fingers, ruthless. “Yes, Cas- faster…oh God-” he kisses you again, pushing the last letter back in your throat.  
He withdraws his fingers, leaving you frighteningly empty. He pumps his cock quickly a couple of times before ripping the condom open with his teeth –that’s should be so hot what the hell- and rolling over his cock.  
“Cas. _Please._ Oh my fucking God, Cas.” he grins and finally slams his cock in your ass. He gives you only a few seconds before starting moving.  
_Jesus Christ._  
Cas fucks you merciless, taking everything from you, and you _need_ to hold on to something, so you grab his shoulders, pulling him into a messy and hungry kiss. He spreads your thighs wide open, fixing the direction and then he finds your prostate and you scream. You arch in the bed, rocking back your hips to meet his thrusts, completely overwhelmed.  
He grins again, his hands that keep exploring your body, touching every inch they can reach.  
“Look at me.” he orders, and you obey, meeting his blue eyes, dark with lust and want. You sink in those eyes, your mind light and empty. And somehow you are not ready for the orgasm that hit you as a truck and _Cas hasn’t even touched you_.  
You scream his name this time, sinking your nails in his shoulders. You arch in the bed, your ass tightens around his cock. He growls against your neck, biting the skin hardly and comes inside you, filling the condom.  
Cas exits from you and falls near your, panting, and tosses the used condom away. You turn your face, waiting for your brain to provide you a joke or something smart, but you mind is having a totally blackout. So it’s Cas that says something.  
“Thanks God, Gabe insisted to take me out tonight.” you laugh.  
  
“Where the hell did you disappear, Cassie?” Gabe grabs your elbow, while you glance at Dean, who’s talking with Sam now, messy hair and a red mark on his neck that the suit doesn’t hide at all.  
_Oh well._  
“I was a little busy. I was doing something important.” Gabe follows the directions of your eyes and raises both his eyebrow, slowly opening his mouth.  
“Oh my God, I can’t believe it. _Did you fuck my boss’ brother?_ ” you smiles innocently, running an hand through your messy hair.  
“I’m sorry.” he glares at you.  
“The hell you are.” he mumbles. “And I thought that you were the good one.” but you’re not paying attention to him because now Dean is watching you, smirking. He winks. You smile.  
“Guess you were wrong.”


	2. Sexyback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Destiel smut

_Dirty babe_  
_You see these shackles, baby_  
_I'm your slave_  
_I'll let you whip me if I misbehave_  
_It's just that no one makes me feel this way_  
   
When Gabe asked you if you could go to pick him up at the hotel because his car is being repaired, you accepted because you are a good brother, not because you’re _dying_ to meet him again.  
Obviously. You are not even thinking about _him._ It’s not like you have spent the last three days thinking about the best sex of your life. _Obviously._ It’s not like you desperately want to see those incredible green eyes, or touch that perfect skin, or fuck him against any available surface.  
_Anyway._  
Somehow you find parking in the front of the hotel, so you just leave your car there and walk into the building, doing your best to ignore the fact that you could just _call him_ at the phone and tell him him that you are there.  
The hall is shimmering and luxurious as the night of the party. You go straight to the reception and the girl behind the counter smiles you gently. She looks nice.  
“Hi, how can I help you, sir?”  
“I’m looking for Dean- I mean, Gabriel Novak.”  
“Do you have an appointment?”  
“No, I’m his brother, I’m here to pick him up.”  
“Sure.”  
“Thank you.” she smiles again and picks up the phone. You put both your hand in the pocket of your jeans and look around you, hoping to see _him._ Not that you really believe that you are lucky enough to meet him. _But._  
“He’s coming. You can wait here.”  
“Thanks.”  
“No problem.” you start to walk toward one of the couch in the middle of the hall, but then you see the bar and you change direction without even thinking about it. You need a drink.  
The bartender is a red-haired girl that smiles while serving you a glass of scotch.  
“You look like someone who has a problem.” she says. You’re not paying attention to her, and you need a few second to process that she’s talking to you, even if you are the only one at the bar.  
“Just looking for someone.” she chuckles, bending over the counter, showing the generous neckline of her t-shirt. Something you don’t care about, actually.  
“A love problem, then. Talk to me.” you turn and read the name on her shirt. “Wait, do I know you?”  
“I don’t think so, Charlie, right?”  
“Oh yes, I do! You were here the night of the charity party, right?” and then a mischievous grin compares on her lips. “Oh right. You’re the one who disappeared with Dean.” then you blush. She laughs. “Is he the one you are looking for?” you nod.  
“Yes, he is. But don’t tell anybody.” You can’t help but smile a bit, she seems like a nice girl.  
“A secret then. Yeah, I was working the night of the party, I saw you two going away together.” you nod.  
“I’m Castiel Novak.” you say, stretching out you hand. She shakes it firmly.  
“Charlie Bradbury.” she answers. “Wait, Novak?  Any relationship with Gabriel? Please don’t tell me that he’s your husband.”  
“Wait, what? No, God, he’s my brother.”  
“Good. You would have lost all the points.”  
“No, actually I’m here to pick up his lazy ass. I’m waiting for him.”  
“I think he’s arrived.” she says looking behind you. You turn, seeing him walking toward you flanked by Sam. The guy is really tall. Like, _really_ tall. You didn’t notice the other night, too focused on Dean. And that’s saying something, considering Sam’s height. They are laughing about something Gabriel said, and that’s strange, because nothing of what Gabe says is actually funny, even if he thinks it is.  
“Hey Cassie!” immediately he looks down at your glass and raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t too early to get drunk? It’s only seven.” He pops the lollipop he has out of his mouth and points it at you.  
“I’m not getting drunk, Gabe. I’m just drinking something.”  
“Whatever. Are you ready to go out?”  
“What?”  
“Yes, me and Sam, we are going to eat something at Marco’s, wanna come?”  
“Gabe, you literally make me come here to pick you up and you’re not even going home?” Sam chuckles nervously, moving his hair from his face. Brown, _long_ hair. God, everything in this man is overgrown.  
“I thinks it’s my fault.” he says. “We skipped the lunch today. We worked too much.” and again you look at Gabriel, that blushes, because he knows what you are thinking. He _never_ skips a meal. Surely not to _work._ So again you look up at Sam, surprised.  
“Okay, in that case, I can come, I guess.”  
“Perfect. Let me call Dean, my brother is slow as a snail. Actually, he probably forgot about this.” but you have stopped paying attention the second he said that Dean will come with you. And dammit, you wanted to see him, but you are not ready to go out for dinner with him. You look down to your clothes, that suddenly feel totally not okay. You are wearing an old black t-shirt and black sweatpants and a dark blue hoodie, and _you are not ready for this._  
Both Sam and Gabriel are wearing suits –even if Gabe’s is turquoise with a pink shirt under it- and normally you wouldn’t care _at all_ but now there’s Dean, and for some reasons you want to look good in front of him. _Dammit._  
And then there he is.  
He looks surprised when he sees you, but it lasts only few second, before his usual smirk appears on his lips. He’s wearing a black suit and a white shirt too, but differently from Sam and Gabe he’s not wearing a tie.  
“Hey Cas.”  
“Hello Dean.”  
“Could you be any slower?” says asks. Dean doesn’t even look up at his brother, his eyes locked with yours.  
“Sorry, lil’ brother, I was having a long, hot shower. I took my time.” he says, and _you know_ he has said that on purpose because in your mind now explodes the imagine of him, wet and naked.  
_Little bastard._ You will make him pay for that. This is not fair.  
“Jerk.” finally Dean looks up to his brother.  
“Bitch.”  
Then Gabe explains Sam where are you going and you all direct to the respective cars. Once you and Gabe are in your car, he turns and stares at you with a grin on his lips.  
“What was that?”  
“What was _what_?”  
“ _That!_ The joke about the shower! And the way you two were… _eye-fucking._ It was weird as fuck.”  
“It’s not my fault if he’s a pervert!”  
“Oh my God, I can’t believe it. You _really_ fucked my boss’ brother!” you can’t help but grin because _oh yes, I did._  
“Did he make you some problem about that?” you ask instead, trying to keep Dean-fucking-Winchester out of your mind. Gabe shakes his head. He stares at you other few seconds with that smug smile on his face, then just chuckles and takes another lollipop out of his pocket, unwrapping it.  
You start the car.  
“I have to say that you have a good taste, at least.”  
“Thanks?”  
“So…are you going to fuck him again tonight at the restaurant?” you almost chock on your own saliva.  
“Gabe!” you can fell your cheeks burning. Gabe laughs, licking his lollipop with nonchalance.  
“Just askin’. You know, to be prepared.”  
“I refuse to answer you.”  
“ _So you will.”_  
“Shut up, Gabriel.”  
   
“What are you doing, Dean?”  
“Fixing my hair?” you answer back. “What do you think I’m doing?” you ask, running your hand through your hair once again. They’re a mess, but you look damn well. You grin at you reflection in the driving mirror of the Impala. “Let’s go” and then you’re out of your car, Sam is still looking at you like with a raised eyebrow. “What?”  
“Nothing, just…please don’t fuck Castiel in the middle of the restaurant” you wink.  
“Can’t promise anything, Samantha.”  
“Dammit, Dean. _Ew.”_  
   
The restaurant isn’t bad. It feels cozy and comfortable. You feel at ease. Good. Cas and Gabe are already there when you and your brother arrived. They are sitting at a round table, in a relative isolate corner of the hall. The restaurant is full of people. You hope for a good pizza.  
You sit near Cas, _obviously,_  and the first thing you do is resting an hand on his thigh, moving your finger slowly on the soft material of his pants. He glares at you, but is the only reaction you get. Fine. You love challenges.  
You smile at the waitress who serves you your beer. She’s pretty, whit long blonde hair and dark hair. She bends a little too much than what is actually necessary over you, all smiles and fake lashes. Your eyes fall on her generous neckline.  
“Thanks…Mandy.” you read on her shirt.  
“You’re welcome” she leaves a few moments later, leaving you the menus. Gabe laughs on the opposite of the table, so you look up.  
“Mandy, uh?”  
“What can I say, I’m irresistible.”  
“Apparently.” Cas mutters near you.  
“It’s part of my charm.” you say, voice a little lower than usual. You tighten the grip on his thigh a little bit, moving to the inside and closer to the center. “What are we eating, gentleman?” Gabe smirks, looking down at his menu.  
“Marco makes the best pizza I have ever eaten in my life.”  
“Then pizza for everyone” you smile, closing the menu. You bring the beer at your lips, taking a couple of sips.  
“I’ll go for salad.”  
“C’mon Sammy, you can afford a pizza” Sam glares at you, shaking his head, he doesn’t even try to answer back.  
Then he and Gabe start to talk about what’s going on with the hotel, something you probably should know, because, well, it’s _your_ hotel, but then you are not a model employee. Honestly, you couldn’t care less about all those boring numbers that Sam is talking about. You have a way more interesting thing to take care of.  
You move your hand again. It’s enough. Your thumb rubs against his dick, covered by too many clothes. Cas holds his breath, you smile, sipping your beer with all the nonchalance you have.  
You stroke him slowly, feeling it half-hard under your fingers.  
You compliment yourself for the result. Though, when you turn your face to look at him, Cas looks totally calm. He hasn’t lost his composure and his self-control. So, this is _definitely_ a challenge.  
You want his to lost all of that calmness, but he’s not even _looking_ at you. Like you’re not even worth of his attention, and you are definitely _not_ used to be ignored. You are Dean Winchester, goddammit. People just don’t _ignore_ you.  
_Fine_. He wants to play? You love playing.  
You stroke his boner with your open hand, undoing the little knot that holds up his pants. You don’t even have to look at it while you do it. You shouldn’t be so proud of that, _but whatever._ Thanks God, his pants are large enough to allow you to tuck your hand under them.  
That’s when Cas reacts. He grabs your wrist, and the look he gives you could burn an iceberg. You wait for him to push your hand away, but he _doesn’t._ Again, you hide your grin behind your beer, looking at Sam and Gabe, but thinking at Cas fucking you merciless. The thought runs down to your spine and ends straight between your legs.  
Cas shifts, uncomfortable. Jesus, you want to be alone with him.  
And then you  finally reaches his cock, already hard, under to many layers. Cas coughs, opening his leg and sliding on his chair. He spreads his legs, a silent invite to go on. His whole body is tense, his muscles are stiff.  
You stroke his cock, up and down. Cas chews his bottom lips, tighten the grip on your wrist.  
“So, Cas, you’re a painter, uh?” you both look at Sam, surprised by the unexpected interruption.  
“Ah, yes.”  
“Do you own a gallery or something?” you look at Cas, resting your chin on the free hand. You move a little closer to him, keeping doing your work. You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold back a laugh.  
“Yes, Cas. Tell us about your job.”  
“Uh…I don’t own a gallery, no. But I, _ah,_ I have this site, which is sort of popular, I guess. It’s…enough to make me survive.” You pass your finger on the top of his hard cock, teasing the opening, just enough to earn another assassin gaze.  
“A site? Sold something recently?” you ask again, because you’re an asshole and the look of pure hate in Cas’ eyes sends an electric shiver of excitement all over your body. Maybe you are enjoying this a little bit too much, but you are completely aware of your being a total son of a bitch.  
“I’m in contact with an important client for a big… _order.”_ On the last word his voice falls deeper and _Jesus Christ, who allowed you to have that voice._  
Then he stands up. And the movement is so abrupt and sudden, that you almost don’t have the time to remove your hand from his pants before everybody in the restaurant is able to see what’s going on.  
“I’m sorry, I’ll be right back” than he leaves, basically throwing you his napkin and almost _running_ to the bathroom. You chuckle, looking back to Sam and Gabe and _when the fuck did you two move so close?_  
“Where is he gone?” asks the blonde. You just shrug your shoulder, waving your hand in a casual move.  
“Bathroom. He wasn’t feeling well. You know what? I’m gonna check on him.” you don’t miss the amused grin of Gabriel and Sam’s glare while you stand up and follow Castiel in the bathroom. You have just opened the door when he slams you against the wall. And suddenly his lips are on yours, hungry and demanding, while his hands grab you hip.  
“I’m happy to see you too, Cas.” you say, grinning. You just can’t help yourself, and the totally outraged expression on his face makes you laugh.  
“You little _bitch_ , I’ll make you _pay.”_ you cock is definitely interested now.  
“How?” it’s his turn to grin.  
“Not now, Dean. _Now_ I want you to suck my cock.” He caresses your bottom lip with his thumb, the blue of his eye almost completely swallowed by the black. “Can you take it all between this pretty lips of yours?” he steps back a little, removing his hands from your lips. You feel a little lost without them. “On your knees.” His voice is firm and low and _you have no right to be this hot, fuck you._  
You drop on your knees, Cas’ hand is immediately in your hair. _Hell yes,_ if you can take his dick in your mouth. _Who do you think you are talking to?_ You lick your lips, and then start mouthing at his boner from over his pants. The fabric is weird under your tongue, but you lick it anyway, tracing the edge of his erection.  
“We don’t have so much time, Dean.” He says, pulling you hair. _Fine._ You smirk, lowering his pants and freeing his cock. He sighs when you leave a soft, wet kiss right on the top of it. You take it at the base, guiding it in your mouth, relaxing your throat. You lock your eyes with his, taking it all, inch after inch. You push it down until it doesn’t rub against the back of your throat. Cas moans.  
“ _Fuck,_ Dean your mouth.” He growls. He pulls your hair, forcing you to move your head back, while he thrusts in your mouth. You choke a bit, and Cas immediately withdraws, staring at you, a question in his eyes.  
“Fuck my mouth, Cas.” you say, voice low and sensual. He growls when you part your lips in a obvious invitation.  
“Jesus.” He holds you steady while he fucks your mouth ruthless. And the only thing you can do is stay where you are, enjoying the perfect weight of his cock on your tongue,  the heat of his burning skin. Jesus, it feels so good.  
You jaw starts to hurt, and probably you will have bruises on both your knees tomorrow, but you really can’t care because your mind is so wonderfully empty and light and there’s the hypnotic sound of Cas’s cock that slides in and out your mouth that is driving you insane.  
And then he holds you steady in your place, his cock deep in your throat while he comes. You don’t even have the time to taste it, you just swallow in an automatic reflex. Cas moans again, his hand loosens the grip on your short hair, caressing your head.  
“Good boy.” He says stepping back, a thin thread of saliva between your lip and top of his cock. You look up, the blue of his eyes almost completely swallowed by the black. You smirk, pleased by the effect you have on him. You stand up, pulling up his pants and redoing the knot with a smirk.  
“We better go back.” You say, swiping your finger on your bottom lip to remove a residue of saliva. Cas grabs your hips and pulls you into a wet, hungry kiss that is totally breathtaking.  
You let him explore your mouth, sliding his tongue on your teeth.  
You do your best to ignore the warm sensation that spread all over your body.  
When he steps back you are out of breath. You grin.  
“What if Friday you come to the hotel?”  
“That could be arranged.”  
“Around 7, my office? We should have enough privacy.”  
“Deal.” He leaves another quick kiss on your lips and then exit, leaving you alone in the bathroom. You turn to face the mirror, trying to give a sense to your messy hair. You fix your shirt and your jacket, tasting _Cas_ on your lips. You leave the bathroom hoping nobody will spot your boner, hands in your pocket.  
_Awesome, Winchester._


	3. Heaven in Hiding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm back with more smut, of course. Thing are getting kinkier.   
> See the Notes at the end for warnings and details!

_Your eyes light up ‘cause you best believe that I got something up my sleeve_  
 _I walk my talk. Not time for wishful thinking_  
 _I push up on my toes, you call me sweet thing_  
 _And breathing down your neck, your body screaming_  
 _And you thought that you were the boss tonight, but I can put up one good fight_  
   
The paintbrush seems to fly on the canvas, while you trace dark lines.  
Behind you, your computer is playing some music, but you are not really listening to it. You never do when you start painting, getting completely lost in your mind. This time isn’t different.  
Honestly, you don’t like your mind. It’s full of bad, _horrible,_ memories, that still haunt you when you less expect them.  
But it’s where your art comes from.  
The lines are starting to assume a shape, a body. A back to be precise. You don’t even realize that you _know_ who’s back your painting until you stop to pour more black on your tablet. It’s been not a long time since you have met him, but that’s definitely Dean’s back. You keep painting.  
Usually your paintings are about those demons you locked in the back of your brain, hoping that it would be enough to keep them away from you –of course, it didn’t work.  
Instead, this time is _Dean._ Without even realizing it, you sink in the memory of his smooth skin under your fingers, under your mouth, in the perfect curve of his arched back, the beauty of his eyes and their multiple, innumerable, different shades, his low and warm voice, that wraps you like a soft blanket.  
You paint the back of Dean’s head, his strong arms bended so he has his hands buried in his own dark-blonde hair. He looks like he’s screaming, throwing back his head.  
Next you trace black, smoky lines, hands with long, thin fingers that grab Dean’s back, scratch his smooth skin. Those hands, those _demons_ are hurting him. Your stomach twists, your chest is heavy. You feel oppressed, mashed by something dark and _big._  
It takes you a second to realize that those hands represent _you_ _._  
 _You_ are hurting Dean. Your demons are harming him.  
“Fuck.” You whisper under voice, looking at your own panting, bewildered.  
You immediately throw the brush on the table, moving away from the canvas. You swallow hard, your hands are slightly shaking.  
You don’t touch that painting again, leaving somewhat incomplete.  
   
“Cas.” Dean moans in your mouth, gripping at your shoulder. You press your hips against his, moving a leg between his. He gasps, burying an hand into your hair. “Jesus Christ, Cas.” You rub your thigh against his half-hard cock, only covered by his thin blue boxer.  
You leave his mouth to move down to his exposed neck, biting the soft skin, not strong enough to break it, but to be sure that he will have a bruise for a while. You slides your tongue over the new mark, your fingernails tugged in his hips. Dean arches his back, pressing his chest against yours, bare skin against bare skin, and it’s just too much.  
You growl on his shoulder, and then push him up against the wall, his legs that readily wrap around your waist, ankles laced together behind your waist. Dean lets out a groan from the back of his throat, holding on to your shoulder and your hair, wide eyes and parted, swallowed lips. And there’s this delicious friction between your cock under your boxer and his ass, still too much clothed, that is driving your crazy, because is _not enough._ You rock your hip against his ass once more, squeezing his ass-cheek in your hand, the other steady on his hip. “Holy fuck, _Cas.”_  
You probably would be able to make you both come only like this, rocking your hard cock against his perfect ass -God did a _great_ job creating Dean Winchester- but you have other plans for tonight. A smirk bends your lip at that thought.  
Then you’re moving. You hold up Dean, who panics a second when the wall is not there to hold him anymore, whimpering, and you put him down on the bed behind you.  
“What ‘bout an head up next time, Cas?” you grin, leaning down to capture his lips into another messy kiss, your hands touching him _everywhere._ You won’t ever have enough of his skin, his flavor, his scent. Of _Dean Winchester._ You bite his bottom lip and stand up. You see him shiver for a second when you withdraw –Dean has this sort of _horror vacui,_ you will have to talk about it sooner or later.  
“Where are you going?” you take the necessary out of your closet and turn back to Dean, not letting him see what’s in your hands. Dean eyes you, the arousal clear in his apple-green eyes.  
You go back between his legs, leaning down to kiss him, slower this time. You take his hand, leaving soft kisses on his wrist, then you pull them up and tie them to the headboard with leather handcuffs above his head.  
“Kinky.”  He whispers, with a grin. Again you don’t say anything, you only bend to kiss his chest, all the way down to his boxer. You hook two fingers at each side of his underwear and slowly pull the boxers down, giving a proud look at Dean’s already hard cock.  
“Here what will happen.” You say, your voice almost cold _,_ slowly stroking his dick. He bites his bottom lip, automatically jerking his hips up in your fists. You use your free hand to hold him down, pressing your lips over his nipple. Dean gasps again. “You will not move while I do whatever I want with you, and you won’t come until I say so. Can you do it for me, Dean?” he swallows, then nods.  
“Yes, sir _.”_ You grin, kissing him.  
“Good boy.”  
You take your hand off of his cock, making Dean moans in disappointment. You kiss him hungrily, exploring his mouth with your tongue, tasting his unique flavor, your hands casually – _casually-_ sliding all over his chest, until you take one of his nipple between your finger, squeezing and playing with it, and he shivers under you touch and moans your name  
“ _Cas,_ Cas.”  
Under your fingers Dean’s skin is not perfect. Scars. A lot of them. Thin and precise, not the kind of scars you get from falling with bike. You wonder how he got them, but the thoughts is quickly gone when he calls your name once again.  
You kiss your way up to his neck again, sucking another red mark near the bruise you left before. Then his clavicle, and down to the other nipple. You bite it, pulling it, and you lick it, suck it, sinking in Dean’s little noises. _That’s,_ is what you have wanted to do since you met him. Taking your time to _worship_ this gorgeous human being.  
Your hands slides down to his hips again, and then you grab the lube, abandoned where you left it before, and pouring a generous amount of it on your fingers.  
“Cas, Jesus, what are you-” whatever he was going to say is cut off when you start to tease his hole, sliding you fingers around it. “Shit, Cas, just do it, already.” He protests, and as answer you only spread his legs even more. And – _Holy fuck._  
Because Dean _is_ beautiful. And _this_ must be the _pornest_ thing you have ever seen in your life. His head leaning down to the pillow, parted, pink, perfect lips and long, golden, lowered eyelashes, his back arched in that perfect and _illegal_ curve, legs spread –an invite you are more than willing to _accept-_ and his hard reddish cock. Everything in this man scream sex, and you don’t even remember how fucking someone was before _him._  
You have to close your thighs to contain the craving desire of taking him immediately.  
 _“_ Do you like being like this, not able to move, while I do whatever I want with you, Dean?” you finally push the first finger inside his hole, and it slides inside his _hot_ body without problem. He moans lauder, his muscles tensed in the effort of not moving. “Do you like being my little _slut,_ Dean?” he nods quickly  
“Cas, need more, _fuck-”_ you slide inside the second finger too, and then the third. You scissor inside his body, stretching his hole and again it requires all of your willpower to keep yourself from slamming your cock inside his abused entrance.  
“Jesus Christ, Dean. You take it so good.” Again he arches his back, tugging the handcuffs.  
“Cas.” You slides down, a smirk on your lips, as you leave a kiss on the red top of his cock, which flinches, patently interested. You lick all the way down to his heavy balls. Suck them in your mouth, hot on your tongue, and all of his body shivers, you heard him holding his breath. You pull back, lapping at the base of his shaft.  
“Look at me, Dean.” you lock eyes with him, while you take him all, inch after inch, until your nose is buried in his pelvic hair.  
“Fuck, Cas-” you raise again, watching his eyes go dark and wild “- _Fuck,_ shit, Jesus Christ, Cas.” And then go down again, ad up and “ _Yes,_ Cas, faster, oh fuck” his cock is pleasantly heavy and hot on your tongue, as it rubs against your palate, and then down _deeper_ against the back of your throat and Dean cries out you name again, his body that shakes in pleasure, your fingers still up in his ass.  
And it’s like you can almost _feel_ him reaching his orgasm, and _that’s_ when you stop, surrounding the base of his cock with your free hand.  
“ _Fuck!_ Cas, oh Jesus, shit, please, _please,_ God, fu-”  
“What did I tell you, Dean?” he presses his head against his pillow, eyelids lowered.  
“Jesus, Cas.” He pants. Immediately you move on his body to go suck another mark on his so exposed throat. You don’t say anything, pressing your smirk against his chest.  
You trace a line of wet kisses on his chest down to his cock again, but this time you avoid it, licking on his pelvic bones, and then down between his cheek, your hand still wrapped around his cock.  
“Lift your hips.” You order on his skin, and we he obliges, his legs shaking, you slides your tongue inside his abused hole, tasting the lube in your mouth and after it _his_ flavor. Dean whimpers, all of his body tensed. You slide two fingers his hole, pounding against his sweet spot while eating his ass and now he definitely screams; it’s your turn to shiver, feeling all the heat, the tremors and the moans.  
He thrust back against your fingers and mouth, panting and desperate.  
“I bet I can make you come like this- I almost did, with my fingers and my tongue up on your slutty ass. Is that what you want, Dean?” he shakes his head, you suck a mark on his thigh. “You have to tell me what you want, then. And be specific.” He swallows hard, looking at your straight into your eyes.  
“I want your cock, _fuck,_ I want you to fuck me so hard and so fast that, _Jesus Christ,_ t-that I won’t be able to walk tomorrow, _goddammit, Cas,_ your fingers- oh shit-” you growl, biting his bottom lip a little bit too hard, you taste the blood in your mouth. You withdraw your fingers from his ass and line up your cock to his red hole.  
“You can’t come yet, Dean.” you remind him, removing your hand from his cock. He nods, rubbing his ass against your dick. “Such a cockslut, aren’t you?” you absently whisper, and then thrust inside him, fast, until his cheeks are pressed against your hip. His eyes flutter open, while he moans out loud.  
“Yes! Fuck yes, Cas, like this.”  
You’re not gentle. It’s almost rough, and when you hit his prostate and Dean screams again, you lean down to claim his lips, his mouth, his neck, lifting his hips to have an easier access. You grab the headboard for leverage, finding Dean’s hands wrapped tightly around it.  
And Dean is a shaking, whimpering mess under you, and suddenly you are literally _hit_ by how _beautiful_ he is like this, needy and desperate- honestly, Dean is _always_ beautiful, but yeah.   
“Cas, please, fucking God, _please,_ Cas, Cas, yeah right _there, oh Jesus-”_ he bites his bottom lips, his eyes bright and watery and wide. You sink in him, deep and lost in the heat of his body and his noises. You exit his body, quickly jerking yourself off a couple of time and then you come over his abused, pinky hole, with his moans that fill the silence of the room.  
“Cas.” He almost whispers, hoarse and low voice, shaking. “Cas, please.” You lean over his body, pressing your lips together.  
“You have been so good for me, Dean so good.” You slide your tongue on his ear, gently pulling his lobe with your teeth. He moans again, lauder.  
“Cas, please, please.” You smirk, catching his lips again. You have had enough fun for this time.  
“Come for me, Dean.” you don’t even have to touch him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for reading this. I hope I'll be able to post the next chapter sunday or monday! Please leave a comment or a kudos, I'd love to hear what you guys think about this story. As usual, I apologize for any mistake.   
> Love you all, guys.  
> If you want to chat or follow the updates of the story, please follow me on Tumblr   
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jcmadgirl
> 
> Warnings:  
> Not much honestly  
> -Cas' head is not in happy place   
> -Light Dom/Sub


	4. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a surprise for Cas, when he comes to meet him in his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song at the beginning is Trust by Boy Epic, you guys should check it out because it's really good!   
> Now, I'm sorry for posting late, but yesterday I completely forgot 'cause I'm an idiot- in my defense I was watching Gotham.  
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter, this is one of my favorites, things are getting spicy!  
> Please check out the notes at the end for warnings.

_You’re all that I adore,_  
 _Bring me to your palace_  
 _I love the game_  
 _When you reign_  
 _Coming for you lover_  
 _Fancy face_  
 _You’re all that I crave_  
 _Come with me now_  
 _Trust, my love, let me inside of your walls_  
   
 _6:56._  
It’s almost time. You don’t know a lot about Castiel, but the guy definitely looks like a prissy order maniac who’s never late.  
You sighs, relaxed on the armchair of your office. On the desk in front of you there is a remarkable stack of paper you were supposed to read and sign and God knows what else. It’s a shame that you weren’t able to focus not even for a second today.  
Not that you would have read all of that shit anyway. Again, number are not your thing.  
You palm the boner clearly visible from you pants one time again, rubbing your ass on the faux leather of the armchair. You let a low moan out of your mouth, foretasting the astonished and lustful expression on Cas’ face when he will find you already _ready_.  
You can almost feel his dark glaze on you, eating your body and touching you possessively.  
 _I will make you pay for that, Winchester._  
Cas’ words echoing in your head, ended up straight between your legs. You dick flinches.  
Another look at the watch on your desk.  
  _6:59._  
 _God, Cas where are you?_ You push your head back, tightening the grip on you dick painfully hard. You chew your lip – _Jesus, Cas, hurry up, man._  
A knock. You smirk.  
“It’s open.” your voice is low, hoarse. Then Cas appears on the threshold of your office, in black jeans and a black Nirvana t-shirt. His hair is messy as usual, his blue eyes immediately gaze all over your body, making you shiver. “Hey Cas.”  
“Hello, Dean.”  
“Lock the door, Cas.” He grins, as the lock snaps behind his back. You stand up, running an hand through you hair. You lock your eyes with his, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. “I have been thinking about you, Cas.” You walk around the desk, his eyes dropping on you evident erection. His eyes darken immediately.  
“I see.” He says, his voice dangerously low. He closes the distance between you two, his hands now on your hips. You let out a small sigh when Castiel’s hand slips over your ass.He grins on your lips. “If I remember well you have been such a bad boy.” He whispers, sliding a knee between your thighs and pushes your pelvis against it, your burden that rubs against your pants. You can’t hold back a moan.  
“I’d deserve a punishment.” You whisper in his ear, then kiss the soft skin under it. Cas growls and pushes you against the desk, taking your jacket off and ripping your shirt open, a couple of buttons jumping off. You take his t-shirt off too, finally kissing him. And he kisses you back, forcing his tongue through your lips, claiming your mouth. You undo his jeans quickly, pulling them down.  
You almost laugh, thinking about the little surprise you prepared him. Almost.  
“Cas.” You gasp, because you need you need him to hurry the fuck up before the plug you have up in your ass will _destroy_ your prostate. “God, _Cas.”_  
 _“_ Already ready to beg, Winchester?”  
“You haven’t see my surprise yet.” You pant out, closing your eyes and throwing back your head. Cas raises an eyebrow, with an expression that screams _cut the bullshit, Winchester._ But then he lowers your pants. You smirk. He holds his breath. His eyes go wide and dark, the blue completely swallowed by the black of the pupils and “ _Fucking God,_ Dean _.”_  
Panties _._ For a second you think that maybe you have stepped over the line, but you don’t let yourself think about it. Don’t ruin everything as always, you’re sexy, Dean. Stop thinking.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
Cas’ eyes slip over your black panties of thin and soft lace. You pull him closer, kissing him again, even more hungry. His hands run over your cock barely covered by the panties, back to you ass, and the sudden realization makes his eyes to shout open. “A butt-plug.”  
“I’m ready, Cas. Want you now.” He literally growls, quickly taking off his pants.  
“Turn.” He orders, and you are more than willing to obey. “You definitely deserve a punishment, Winchester.” His low voice doesn’t help your _hard_ situation. “Hands behind your back.” You give him your hands, and after a few seconds of some shifting, you find your wrists tied together by what looks like your belt. “Bend.” And again you can do anything but obey, the anticipation and the adrenaline that make you shake.  
Cas bends over you, his chest pressed against your back in an electric friction. He rubs his hard cock between your ass, cutting off your breath.  
“Fuck, Cas.” You moan. You can _feel_ him smirking. He takes off your tie that was still hanging at your neck and then his hands are under your panties, and _thanks God, finally,_ but no.  
Your tie is now around the base of your painful erection, tight enough that you won’t be able to reach you’re much needed orgasm until Cas says so.  
“Goddammit, Cas, you serious?”  
“Do you trust me, Dean?” You close your eyes, leaning in his touch. Do you trust Cas? You’re a bit scared of how easily -how much- you trust him.  
“Yes…yeah.”  
“Safeword?” you lick your lips.  
“Impala?”  
“Let’s begin then.” Cas smirks then. “You have been a really naught boy.” He whispers in your ear, a grin in his voice. You curse, and immediately Cas’ hand slaps your ass. You moan, more because of the surprise that because he actually hurt you. “Listen to what will happen now.” You close your eyes, opening your mouth, gasping for oxygen. “I will punish you for your bad behavior, and you will be so silent that nobody out there will hear you. Do you understand, Dean?” you nod, your mouth stubbornly closed. “Good” he slowly lows your panties, and you kick them off. “Jesus Christ, Dean.” He mutters, sliding his hands all over your ass, you have to bite your lips to not let out a moan. “You should see yourself right now, so wet and open for me. You are driving me crazy, Dean.”  
You could come only with his voice saying your name again and again, if it wasn’t for the little detail of the tie around your damn cock. Then he slaps your cheek again, not strong enough to really hurt you, but surely enough to make you moan. You need all your willpower to not let it out.  
Cas hits you again, on the other side. Your body shakes. You need to hold on to something, but your hands only grab the empty air.  
“Embarrassing me like that, in the middle of the fucking restaurant, Dean.” The next slap hits you exactly in between, pushing the plug even deeper, if it’s possible. Your eyes shout open, while you arch your back. Again, you swallow the moan that’s stuck in your throat.  
“I was so angry, I wanted to take you right there in front of everyone.” Again on the right side, stronger this time.  
“You were so annoying. You really pissed me off.” On the left side. You open your mouth, but you manage to not let out a single breath. Not that you could actually breathe anyway, you forgot how to do that.  
Against the plug. You bite your bottom lips so strong that you can taste the metallic flavor of blood in your mouth. Your head is spinning, your back is killing you. Another slap.  
Then Cas slides his hand over your abused flesh, leading his long fingers on the plug.  
“Good Dean, so good.” You close your eyes, your chest filled by a pleasant warmth at his words. Cas pushes the plug in a little bit more, and then he starts pulling it off, rotating it inside your hole. And God, you don’t know how you are able to actually stay in silent, but you do, and you can be proud of yourself. You have never been good to keep your mouth shouts –Alastair used to repeat you that over and over.  
Then two fingers are inside your ass, and okay, it’s good, but it’s not enough and especially it’s not _necessary._ But evidently you are not the only asshole in the room.  
Your whole body is shaking now, and you can’t help to rock back on his fingers, needy and desperate. Jesus, you have never been this hard in your fucking life.  
 _Please Cas, Jesus fucking Christ, please._  
“God, Dean, look at you, so needy for me. So open.” His hands spread wide your cheeks. “I bet I could make you come only with my fingers up in your ass. Do you want that, Dean?” you weakly shake your head, because you want his fucking dick in your ass, and you want it _now._  
God, you’re dying.  
“Do you want me to fuck you until you don’t even remember your name, Dean? Do you want me to come inside you, and fuck the living hell out of you, Dean?” you nod quickly, so close to beg.  You can still taste your own blood on your lip.  
Again Cas rub his hard cock on your ass, before finally slamming his dick inside your violated hole. You can’t help but let out a low moan, pressing your forehead against the smooth surface of your desk.  
 _God, yes._  
He grabs your hair, the other hand firmly placed on your hip, and he starts fucking you so hard and fast, immediately hitting your prostate, that you can’t even breathe anymore. Your arch your back when he pulls your head bacj, your mind so light and clear that you _don’t remember your fucking name._  
“God Dean, you’re so hot, you take it so good, fuck, _Dean_.” And after that is an endless litany of _Dean, Dean, Dean,_ again and again, repeated all over again, cracked. The grip on your hip is so strong that it will probably leave a bruise. Not that you care.  
Your skin is going on fire, your back hurts like hell and the only thing that prevents you from falling on your knees is Cas’ hand on your hip. And you’re so lost and breathless that when Cas comes you’re not ready, and above all _you can’t come._ Cas thrusts in a last time, your whole body shaking, he gasps your name once last time.  
The grip on your hair disappears.  
“ _Cas,_ Jesus, Cas, _please, please.”_ You finally moan. “Cas, fuck, can I come? I need-  
Cas chuckles, taking off the tie from your cock and gives it a few quick strokes, and that’s all you need. You came hard in his fist, shutting your eyes down, almost screaming his name.  
He takes off the belt from your wrists too and his hands are immediately on your hips, holding you up. And it’s good that they’re there, because you’re so blissed out that you can’t even stand by yourself. The next second Cas’ lips are on yours, and it’s good, it feels so good.  
You totally melt in that wet, messy kiss until you can’t stand anymore.  
   
 _“You are such a bad boy, Dean.”_  
 _“I’m sorry.”_  
 _“Always saying that you are sorry, but you keep ruining everything, don’t you?” you bite your bottom lip, holding back a moan. The knife slides on your chest so easily. Like a pen on a paper._  
 _“I’m sorry.”_  
 _“You never do anything right, don’t you? You’re such a disappointment, Dean.” The blood runs down on your skin. It’s cold. It’s so cold. “I don’t even know why you’re still trying.” Another cut, deeper, above your heart. You can’t hold back the moan this time. His hand snaps so fast you don’t even see it. But you definitely feel it, the slap on your cheek. You swallow back the tears._  
 _You don’t cry. You never cry._  
 _“I-I’m sorry.”_  
 _“You’re so…worthless. A waste of space.” He kneels in front of you, lifting you face with the knife. You look down, you can’t bear his gaze. You open your mouth to say something, but your voice is gone. You take a deep breath and try again._  
 _“I’m sorry.” Your voice is shaking. He runs a finger on the last cut, picking up some dark blood on his finger. It burns. Then he presses that finger on your bottom lip, your mouth that automatically parts. He pushes the finger between your lips and you lick the blood away, fighting the impulse of throwing up._  
 _The blood tastes like metal. You swallow._  
 _“You will never be enough, Dean, and you know that.”_  
 _“I’m sorry.”_  
   
You make the liquor in your glass rotates, watching it silently.  
 _Come on Dean, go dance._  
You turn on your stool, leaning the elbow on the counter of the bar behind you, lifting the glass to your mouth and drinking it in one sip. You let your eyes wander over the people dancing in the club. The music is too loud, and honestly it’s terrible, but they can’t even play some classic rock in a night club, you guess.  
However.  
There’s a guy that has been watching you for a while now. He’s dancing with some other people, but he’s stripping you with his eyes. You smirk. He looks like your next prey. You order another shot, drink it, and then walk toward the guy, making your way through the crowd of sweat and drunk people.  
The guy has dark brown hair and brown eyes. He’s pretty.  
“Hey.” You say, leaning a hand on his hip, screaming to surpass the music. The guy smiles back. He has a cute smile. Yes, he’s okay for the night.  
For some reason your mind runs to Cas, but you are fast to shut the thought down. You’re Dean Winchester, you’re drunk, and you will fuck this guy. You don’t even ask for his name, and he doesn’t mind. You pull him closer, your hands on his hips, his on your shoulder. He starts to grind on you, a knee between your leg, biting his bottom lip.  
Soon enough you are in a taxi, leading to his apartment.  
   
You wake up with a son of a bitch of an headache. You sit up, looking down to the guy that is still sleeping quietly.  
It’s the damn sunrise. You rub your eyes, trying to get up without waking up the guy. You’ll be more than happy to skip the _whole “I’m sorry but you were just a one night thing, hope you’re not hurt, bye_ ” conversation. You pick up your clothes from the floor, wearing them as silently as possible.  
Fortunately you have had enough one-night adventure to know how to leave without waking up your prey. Maybe you shouldn’t be so proud of that. Maybe yes. You are.  
You smirk to yourself, closing the door behind you and wearing your leather jacket.  
 _Well done, Winchester_.  
You got laid this night too, and the nightmare that woke you up is now only a far memory.  You take a taxi to the nightclub and there you find your Baby parked exactly where you left it.  
You let out a content sigh, leaning your hand on the wheel. You give a look to the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow when you notice the hickey on your neck.  
“What the fuck.” That wasn’t supposed to happen. You snort, starting the car. Dammit.  
You don’t want to go back to the hotel, so you end up driving around the city for almost an hour, before you stop at Starbucks and get a black coffee and a donut. With the breakfast in your stomach you’re finally ready to go home and start another boring day of numbers and graphs that you don’t understand. Thanks God, the hotel has Sam, otherwise it would have bankrupted years ago.  
When you arrive at the hotel people are already going in and out. You wave at Jessie, the girl at the reception who blushes when you smile at her. Maybe you didn’t have to go to the nightclub to get laid, last night. Whatever. You’ll keep it in mind for the next time, which probably is tonight.  
You stop at the restaurant and take another cup of coffee, then go to catch on Sam in his office.  
“Hey Sammy” you say, falling on one of the armchair in front of Sam’s desk.  
“Hey, Dean.” He looks up from his paper and raises an eyebrow. “What the hell happened to you?” you wink, taking a sip of the hot coffee ( _not hot as you, though)._  
“I got laid.”  
“Ew, Dean.”  
“You asked.”  
“You could have lied, thanks.”  
“Nah. What are you doing?”  
“What you were supposed to do yesterday. Did you at least sign those paper Gabe left on your desk?” you smile.  
“I was busy.” Sam rolls his eyes, because you never do anything.  
“Really? Doing what?”  
“Cas.”  
“Oh my God, Dean! Jesus, _ew!”_  
 _“_ Actually Cas was doi-  
“Nope! Enough, I got enough. You’re disgusting, I can’t believe it. In _your_ office? In your office near _mine_? Jesus.”  
“I’m pretty sure you didn’t hear any strange noise.” You grin, thinking at Cas’ deep, low voice that orders you to keep your mouth shut. You keep drinking your coffee. Sam shakes his head, then looks up at you again. He smirks.  
“So. You and Cas, mh?” you almost choke on your coffee.  
“What?”  
“Are you two guys a thing? Do I have to be prepared for embarrassing Thanksgiving with my assistant’s brother?”  
“God _no._ We are definitely not together. It’s just occasional sex.”  
“Jesus, Dean. What are you, eighteen? You’re too old for this.”  
“I’m not, shut up, bitch.” He chuckles.  
“Jerk.” You roll your eyes, hiding a smirk behind your cup. “But you slept with him last night.” That makes you laugh.  
“I did _not.”_  
“But…but you went out.”  
“Yeah, so? I told you me and Cas aren’t a _thing._ I met this guy in a club.” He raises an eyebrow, looking at you with his best bitch-face.  
“Does Cas know about it?”  
“No.”  
“Are you gonna tell him?” again you roll your eyes, waving your hand in the air.  
“We are not _together,_ Samantha. Shut up.”  
“I don’t know man, you already slept with him four times.”  
“First, why are you keeping count? That’s weird, man. Second, what’s your point?”  
“ _My point is_ that you have never slept with someone more than one time since-” he immediately shouts his mouth, while you freeze on your seat. His eyes look for yours, but now you are staring at the floor.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“I’m sorry” he immediately says.  
“Yeah, it’s alright.” Your next smile is forced. You finish your coffee and leave the empty cup on the pile of paper in front of your brother. “I gotta go anyway. Work to do.”  
“Dean, come on, don’t-” you _don’t_ hear the rest of the sentence, closing the door behind you. You let out a sigh, running an hand through your messy hair. You need a shower. And a nap. A long long nap. You nod at Gabriel, sitting behind his desk, and go to your room, collapsing on the bed.  
The next minute you are already asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading my story, please leave a kudos or a comment so I know what you guys think!   
> Follow me on Tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jcmadgirl) for updates on the story.  
> Warnings:  
> -Sub/Dom  
> -Light bondage  
> -Spanking  
> -Panties  
> -Nightmares (blood play)  
> -Dean/Other (just a bit don't worry)


	5. Polarize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the first of three chapters that go through some episode of Dean's life when he was younger, I felt like I had to explain how he got where he is now in the story, and I thought this was a good way to do it. Each paragraph is a different scene in a different day of he and Sam's lives unless it's specified differently.  
> There's so heavy angst, so please read the warning at the bottom.  
> Title: Polarize by Twenty One Pilots (my favorite band aww)

_You know where I'm coming from  
Though I am running to you  
All our feelings deny, deny, denial, oh_  
_I wanted to be a better brother, better son  
Wanted to be a better adversary to the evil I have done  
I have none to show to the one I love  
But deny, deny, denial, oh_  
_Help me polarize, help me polarize, help me down  
Those stairs is where I'll be hiding all my problems_  
  
  
Dean is four.  
He’s a pretty boy with blonde hair a little bit too long, who loves pies and sandwich without crust.  
He loves playing baseball with his Dad.  
He loves watching football with his Dad.  
He loves cooking with his mum.  
He loves his mum, she’s the most beautiful and sweet woman Dean has ever seen.  
He loves his Dad, he’s his hero. One day he will be exactly like him.  
Also, Dean already loves his young brother.  
He loves playing with Sammy.  
He loves hearing his acute laugh, and his shining smile.  
Often, Dean asks his mother when Sammy will start to talk, or walk, or run, so they can really play together in their yard. His mum always smiles, and says that soon enough they will be able to do all of that things.  
Dean is four, and his biggest fear is the monster under his bed. But his Dad is there every night to check under it and reassure him that monsters aren’t real. Dean believes him and goes to sleep.  
Dean is four, and that night isn’t different. It’s a little bit earlier than usual, but Dean is tired. He has played football with his friends the whole day. His mum kisses him on the forehead, caressing his hair. His Dad nods. No monsters under his bed.  
Dean smiles, bringing the blanket up to his nose. His mum switches off the light and closes the door of his room. Quickly he falls asleep, thinking that the next day his Dad will take him to eat breakfast at their favorite diner, which means a lot of pancakes. Dean loves pancakes too.  
Dean wakes up when he hears his mum screaming. He walks out of his room, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He’s tired, why is everybody screaming?  
Then he sees his father. He’s scared. Dean has never seen his father scared, he’s a hero. And there’s fire. And then Sammy is in his arms, and Dad is screaming something. At the beginning Dean doesn’t’ understand, everything is so confused. Everything is happening so fast.  
Then he gets it. He has to run. To run and take out Sammy. The house is burning. He has to run and to protect his brother. That’s what Dean does. He runs as fast as he can, tears in his green eyes.  
He runs out of the house and falls on the yard. He hugs Sammy tighter, watching his house, the house he loves, burning down.  
He sees his Dad running out, covering his own face with an arm.  
He doesn’t sees his mother. He waits. Dad hugs them both.  
He sees the ambulance and firefighters arriving and extinguish the fire. He waits for his mother.  
He sees his neighbors screaming and talking. He’s still waiting.  
He sees Sammy starts crying, so he leaves a kiss on his little head, holding him closer. He keeps waiting.  
He sees his Dad sitting in his car, weeping away the tears from his face. He says to himself that he only has to wait a little bit more for her.  
Then his Dad puts them both in the car and Dean sees the signal that warns them that they’re leaving Lawrence, Kansas.  
Dean is four and now his biggest fear is fire.  
Dean is four and he’s not waiting anymore.  
   
Dean is six. He doesn’t speak a lot. Actually if he can avoid speaking,  he does. He doesn’t like being at the center of the attention.  
But it’s not a big problem, though. They move really often, he doesn’t have many friends anyway. He has Sammy. Sammy is the only one that hears him speaking. Dean speaks to Sam, and tells him that everything is going to be fine. He tells him about their mom, the best woman in the world. He tells him that now she’s in Heaven and she watches them both, she protects them both, even though they can’t see her. He tells him that their mom loves the both so much, that she didn’t want to leave, but she was forced to.  
Dean always protects his brother from everything. He always checks under the bed they usually share in the crappy motel they’re staying. He feeds him, making sure that his milk is not too hot or too cold. He plays with him, because he loves when Sammy laughs.  
He also takes care of Dad.  
After the fire he has started to see weird things.  
Monsters. Demons. Dad thinks that they are hunted by monsters. The same that killed his mother. So Dad is training Dean. To protect himself and Sammy.  
Dean believes him.  
His Dad is his hero, if he says that they’re in danger, Dean believes him. So Dean doesn’t complain when his Dad trains him how to use a gun. Doesn’t complain when he forces him to hours of exhausting training to learn how to fight, when he makes him run for miles, when his whole body aches and he’s covered in bruises.  
He doesn’t complain either when his Dad leaves for days without even telling where he is going, and comes back dirty and drunk. Usually Dean takes him to the bathroom, washes him as much as he can and makes him lay on the bed until he falls asleep.  
Dean doesn’t even complain when nightmares wake him up. He only swallows back the tears, and holds Sammy tighter, listening to his regular breath until he falls sleep again. Only to be waken up again a few hours later after another nightmare. But he doesn’t complain, because Dad told him that only weak people cry, and he can’t be weak, he doesn’t want to let down his Dad.  
Dean is six, and he doesn’t complain. But after all, he doesn’t even talk a lot.  
   
Then Dean is eight, Sam is four.  
Now Dean is pretty good with at least four different types of guns, and he has started to learn how to use a rifles.  
He has also started to steal.  
Not that he likes it, but when Dad left them without enough money to buy food, Dean was forced to.  
It became easier after the first time. Dad trained him to be fast, and silent. Plus, he is only a kid. Nobody ever suspects of the kid.  
“Sammy! I’m home.” His brother comes to him, smiling when he sees the bag of the grocery shopping. “I brought the dinner.” Dean smirks, ruffling his hair. He needs an haircut, and new clothes too.  
“What are we eating?”  
“What about mac and cheese?” he asks, leaving the bags on the counter of the small kitchen of their room.  
“Again?”  
“Shut up, they’re delicious.”  
“We ate them yesterday too!”  
“What would you like then?”  
“Can we have chicken nuggets?” he asks with big puppy eyes, the whole face lightens up with hope. Dean bites his bottom lip. He hates letting him down, but he doesn’t have the money to buy chicken, and it’s pretty difficult to steal. He shakes his head.  
“Tomorrow, maybe. Or when Dad comes home, he’ll take us out and you can have the biggest hamburger on the menu.”  
“Where is he? When will he come home, Dean?” the boy turns to the kitchen, heating up the water.  
“Soon, Sammy.”  
“But where is he?” Dean thinks about it few seconds, considering his options.  
“Hunting monsters. Dad is a superhero.” He lies, but watching his little brother smiling.  
“Is he a spy?”  
“Something like that”  
“But what if something bad happens to him?”  
“Nothing bad will happen to him. He’s too strong.”  
“Cool.”  
“Go clean the table, dinner will be ready in fifteen.”  
“I’m so hungry.” Dean chuckles, giving a fast look to the door. He wishes his father was there, but then Sam shows him the drawing he made that afternoon and the thought is quickly gone.  
   
“Dean!” Sam almost screams, covering his eyes with his hand, and burying his face in Dean’s chest.  
“Sam, it’s just a film.” They are currently watching _Batman,_ at least Dean is watching it. Sam is basically screaming, terrified by the Joker. Dean has to say it, it’s creepy, okay, but Sam is overreacting near him. Dean sighs, holding him closer.  
“Turn it off!”  
“Sam, the Joker is not real, he can’t hurt you.”  
“How do you know that?”  
“Because it’s just a film.” Dean answers, but shutting down the crappy tv of the motel anyway.  
“It looks real.”  
“It’s not. It won’t hurt you.”  
“Clowns are terrifying.” Sam decides, and Dean can’t help but laughs.  
“They’re not. They’re funny.” Sam shakes his head, and leans it down on his chest. Dean closes his eyes for a few seconds, enjoying the silence of the room and the light weight of Sammy over him.  
“I don’t like them.”  
“Okay. No more Joker, I swear.”  
“But _how_ do you know it’s not real, Dean? What if he comes tonight and kidnap me?”  
“He won’t, Sammy.”  
“Why not?”  
“I won’t let the Joker hurt you.”  
“ _How?”_ Dean has to think about it for a moment, since it looks like his brother is convinced that the damn Joker is real. And when he finds a valid answer he smirks, looking down at his little brother.  
“I’m batman.” He says proudly, smirking. And Sammy just stares at him for a while, a skeptical expression on his face. “What, do you not believe me?” Sam looks like he’s going to say something but the he shouts his mouth, and just smiles.  
“I do.” He whispers, and the curls again against Dean, who can only pulling him closer and turn on the tv again, not on Batman this time.   
   
Dean is ten, Sam is six.  
He doesn’t believe to his Dad anymore, now. The few friends he has told him that those kind of monsters don’t exist, and his Dad saw them only because he’s always drunk. Now Dean knows it, but still obey blindly to his Dad. Dean wants him to be proud of his son, even though he never seems to be enough. There’s always something wrong. That punch wasn’t straight enough. That kick wasn’t strong enough. That shot wasn’t precise.  
Not that he complains about that. He only tries harder, hoping that the next time he will do it right.   
But there’s a good thig. Dad found a job. So they all moved in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. John works in a garage, Singer Salvage Yard, the owner is an old friend of his.  
He bought a house. Dean doesn’t know with which money, since they are pretty much broke, but he doesn’t complain. He really doesn’t, because now they have a permanent roof on their heads, and he has a real kitchen where he can cook.  
Also, Dad doesn’t talk anymore about those demons that used to scare the crap out of Dean, more or less. Sometimes John still screams about that yellow-eyed demon that killed Mary, years ago. That usually happens when he drinks too much. So Dean does what he can to keep him away from the bottles. Every time he sees a bottle of alcohol immediately he pours it in the sink, without a second of hesitation. Dean doesn’t like his Dad when he’s drunk. Though, he doesn’t even like him when he’s angry.  
Not to talk about when he’s both drunk _and_ angry.  
“Dean!” Dean turns his head, to face his Dad. The man is standing on the threshold of the door, barely standing. Dean just sighs, he’s pretty used to his drunk parent by now.  
“Yeah?” he has a test tomorrow, and he needs to study. He really needs it, because he’s already failing the stupid English class, but he knows that he has to deal with Dad before.  
“Did you throw away my alcohol again?” he asks, and the question comes out in a quite tone, though Dean knows better. He slowly stands up, not daring taking his eyes off his Dad. His first thought is for Sammy, his brother is supposed to be home soon, back from some friend’s house.  
He knows he shouldn’t lie. He knows what happen when he lies.  
“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.” He whispers, looking down to the floor. He bites his bottom lip, and looks up again. He barely has the time to process what’s going on that his Dad is over him, trapping him between himself and the desk. Dean’s hips slam against the edge of it, causing the boy to groan.  
“You motherfucker son a bitch.” John grabs his shirt, pulling him up until Dean’s feet are barely touching the ground. He feels the fear running in his veins, his heart racing in his chest as it wants to jump out.  
“D-Dad.” He stutters.  
“I told you to never do that ever again!” the slap makes him turn his head, his cheek stings. It takes a few second for Dean to process the pain. And by that time, John has hit him again, stronger. Dean swallows back both the tears and the groans. He knows they would only make his Dad angrier. “You stupid fuck, never learn the lesson, don’t you?”  
John’s breath is disgusting, he smells like sweat and beer. When he hits Dean again, he can’t hold back a chocked whine.  
“I-I’m sorry, Sir.” Somehow he manages to say, not meeting his eyes. He wonders where he found enough alcohol to get drunk, even though he threw away all they got at home.  
“You better be.” John hits him two more times just _so he learns the lesson_ , and then lets him go, staggering out of the room. Dean immediately drops on his knees, not even realizing that he’s shaking. He stares at the floor blankly for a while, his mind empty and his face burning. He only goes back to himself when he hears the frontal door slamming  closed, and then he realizes that Dad left.  
He slowly stands up, moving to the kitchen. He mechanically opens the freezer, takes out a frozen pack of beans and puts it on his burning cheeks. Slowly, he goes back to the table and sits back on his chair, pressing the beans on his face, his hand already cold. He looks down to his notebook, the letters that mix in front of his eyes.  
He will fail the test, and his Dad will be pissed and disappointed again. That is almost enough to make him cry. Only that he doesn’t cry, he never allows himself to.  
That time it’s not different, why should it be? They’re just a bunch of slaps, Dean has had worse, much worse.  
Half an hour later, when Sam comes home, Dean is still staring at the same page of the notebook, the words that keep mixing up on the page.  
Sammy doesn’t say anything when he sees the pack of not-anymore-frozen bean that Dean is still pressing on his cheek pointlessly. His jaw clenches, but he just grabs a chair and seats near his brother.  
“Is it for the your test tomorrow?” he asks quietly. Dean blinks, coming back from his thoughts.  
Dean just nods silently. Sam nods as well and picks up the papers. Then he just starts to read about how to write from different point of views, while Dean is finally able to focus.  
   
The next morning a purplish bruise is evident on both his cheeks. Nobody asks anything, Dean’s pretty sure they all think he ended up in another fight. Which is not entirely wrong, only who they assume he fought. Honestly he has a bad reputation at school: he’s too loud, he talks too much, he’s impulsive and often fights against the other kids for stupid reasons, he’s literally unable to stay still for more than thirty second, always in movement, always on guard.  
He’s more than happy to leave school to go pick up Sam at his.  
Dean sits on the short wall that surrounds the school, taking out his notebook. He makes a list, trying to plan what he needs to buy (or steal) at the grocery store to make all the meals they need for that week. It’s a pretty long list, and he frowns, trying to figure out if eating Mac And cheese once more instead of hamburger he can buy the ingredients to make Sammy a pie, the good one Mary used to bake for him.  
“Dean!” he lifts his head, realizing that he has been sitting on that wall for almost an hour, because now Sammy is running toward him, bright smile and backpack that bounces on his back. Dean smiles, quickly putting away the notebook.  
“Hey, Sammy. How was school?”  
“I got an A+ on my history test!” he says, eyes wide. Dean feels his chest filling with pride and hugs him.  
“Nerd.” He smirks, while Sam punches him on the arm. “What else?”  
“I have a new friend. He’s called Kevin, can he come over tomorrow?” Dean frowns.  
“I don’t know, buddy.”  
_What if Dad is at home?_  
“Please, Deaaaan?” he sighs, knowing that Sam had won that battle from the beginning. He can’t say no to him, and the kid knows it.  
“Alright.” He will have to figure out how to feed another mouth.  
   
“Dean!”  
“Yeah?” he asks, lifting his head from the math book. He is still struggling to figure that crap out.  
“Dean, look at my science project!” Sammy bursts in the kitchen, holding what Dean supposes it’s his project. It’s a plastic dish with a plastic cup glued on it. From the cup comes out a pencil, which holds an arrow made of carton and a stick. Dean smiles, watching his brother putting the project on the top of Dean’s math book.  
“What is it?”  
“It’s a wind vane!” Dean gently pushes the arrowhead, making it rotate around the pencil.  
“Wow, Sammy. Did you do this all by yourself?” the younger kid smiles widely, his eyes bright of proud.  
“Yep! He took me a while, but this is definitely worth an A.”  
“Even an A+, I bet. It’s great.” Dean answers, rubbing his head. God, he’s so proud of his brother. He’s so smart.  
“What are you doing, Dean?” he asks. He sighs, running an hand through his short blonde hair.  
“Trying to figure math out. I bet you would do it in like ten minutes.” Sam smiles widely, pushing the arrow of his project.  
“Do you think that Dad would like it?”  Dean’s smile gets a little bit sadder.  
“Of course.”  
“Where is he, by the way?”  
“Out with some of his friends. He will be home soon.”  
“Dean, it’s parents’ day tomorrow at school.”  
“He’ll be there, I promise Sam.”  
“You always say that, but he never gets home in time.”  
“I know, but this is your first year of school, he will be there.”  
“How do you know that? He never went to yours.”  
“Because he cares about you.” Sam only looks at him for a few seconds and then nods.  
“Okay.”  
“Go to sleep, Sammy. It’s late.”  
“It’s late for you too.” He answers back.  
“Shut up, I have to finish this damn thing.” Sam snorts again, then takes back his project and goes back to his room. The second Sam’s door is closed Dean immediately grabs the phone, quickly dials John’s number.  
As usual, he doesn’t pick up. Dean swears under his breath, calling again, absently playing with his pencil. Again, nothing. It’s not like he’s not used to it, but for once he wishes his Dad would answer his damn phone. He drops the phone on the table, leaning against the back of the chair. He normally doesn’t care, he can handle almost everything by himself usually, but this, for _this_ he needs him. He doesn’t want to let Sam down again.  
Guess, he can only wait. He looks back at his book, finding impossible to focus on the numbers in front of him. After ten minutes he gives up and puts everything in his backpack, moving to the small living room, hoping to see his Dad on the door. He doesn’t. With a tired sigh, Dean decides to go upstairs. It’s actually pretty late, and he’s tired. He falls on his bed, hoping to find his Dad passed out on the couch tomorrow morning.  
   
When his wish comes to reality, Dean is truly surprised. He really didn’t expected his father to be home the next morning. Well, he is passed out on the couch as he had supposed, but he is there. Dean smiles a little, rubbing his still sleepy eyes.  
First things first.  
He goes to the kitchen, and takes out the ingredients for pancakes from the fridge. It’s always better have food ready when he has to ask something to Dad. He quickly prepares the mix, then proceeds to cook them. He makes eight pancake, and puts three on them on a plate, drowning them in the syrup.  
“Dad.” He calls, teasing him on the shoulder. “Dad, wake up. You gotta go to work.” The man only mumbles some swear words, before pushing him away. “Dad, c’mon. I made you pancakes.”  
“Shut the fuck up, Dean.”  
“You have to go to work. You need a shower, you stink.”  
“Don’t you seen that I’m trying to sleep, you asshole?”  
“Dad, please. You’re gonna be late, and Bobby will be pissed.”  
“I don’t give a fuck about what that son of bitch thinks, shut the fuck up.” Dean bites his bottom lip, uncertain on what to do. It doesn’t look like he’s going to get up anytime soon. He shifts the weight from one leg to another.  
“Dad?”  
“What?” he blurts out, finally opening his eyes. Dean flinches.  
“I..uh…made pancakes.” He finally says, after seconds of silent. John glares at him, before sitting up and taking the plate from his hands. Dean lets out a breath he didn’t realized he was holding, watching his Dad eating those pancake.  
“Bring me something to drink. Beer.”  
“It’s six in the morning, Dad.”  
“So what?” Dean shivers, then just shakes his head.  
“Nothing.” Few seconds later he’s back with the beer. “Look, Dad. It’s Parents’ day at Sammy’s school. He…he would like you to be there.”  
“I can’t.”  
“But your shift at the garage ends at six, the meeting is only at eight. You can come home, I’ll make dinner, and then you can go to school and-  
“I said no.”  
“But why not?” he can’t help but ask.  
“Because I said so.” His Dad replies, cold voice, sipping his beer and eating the pancakes. Dean clenches his fists.  
“It’s not for me, it’s for Sammy.” he tries again. John looks up.  
“Of course is about you, Dean.” He blurts out. “It’s always about you. You only want to look good at your brother’s eyes, but actually you don’t give a fuck about him.” Dean feels his whole faces heating up, taking a step back.  
“I don’t, it’s not-  
“It’s not what, Dean? Why don’t you stop being a fucking selfish asshole, admit that you don’t give a shit about anyone else and leave me fucking alone?” Dean knows, _he knows,_ that those words aren’t true. He _knows_ it, but knowing it doesn’t stop him from feeling like shit. He swallows back the tears and nods. “What, you also forgot how to speak?” Dean looks down, avoiding his father’s eyes.  
_Never good enough, Dean._  
“No. Sir.” He adds after couple of seconds of hesitation. “I’m sorry.”  
“You’d better be. Now get out, and let me eat my food in peace.” He doesn’t wait another second, ad basically runs out of the room, to the kitchen. He leans against their old, crappy fridge, and wipes his tears away.  
_I’m fine. You’re fine._ He takes out of the fridge some orange juice for Sammy and puts it on the table near the three pancake he prepared for him. He stares blankly at the two he cooked for himself. He’s not hungry anymore. Listening to his father’s insults always takes away his hunger. He covers the pancake with some tinfoil, and put them in the fridge. Sam can eat them tomorrow morning.  
“Dean?”  
“’Morning, Sammy.” Dean smiles, sitting on the chair next to his brother. “I made pancakes.” He chuckles, watching him devouring his breakfast, almost without breathing.  
“They’re so good.” He says with the mouth full. The Dean smiles fondly.  
“Alright, go get dressed. Time to go.” Sam lets out an annoyed sound, while going upstairs. Dean cleans up the table, leaving the dishes in the sink, and drinking the orange juice Sam left in the glass. He shots a look at his Dad, that is back on leaning down on the couch, the pancakes abandoned at his feet. He didn’t finished them, so Dean goes to pick them up, paying attention to not wake him up again.  
Few minutes later both he and his brother are leaving the house, Sam holding his science project and Dean thinking about what to cook for dinner to cheer Sam up.  
   
Dean is eleven, Sam is seven.  
And it’s Christmas.  
Well, it’s not Christmas _yet,_ but there’re only few days left, less than a week. Dean loves Christmas.  
“Sam! C’mon, man!”  
“I’m coming!”  the youngest kid runs down the stairs, almost tripping on a pile of clothes abandoned on the step.  
“You are slower than a girl, Sammy. And your hair are longer.” Dean teases. His little brother punches him on the arm, nor strong enough to hurt him. Dean laughs, throwing and arm around his shoulder.  
“Shut up, Dean. I’m not, you jerk.” Dean smirks.  
“Bitch.” He answers back, and then the two of them are going out. “Do you have your hat? Gloves?”  
“Yes, ma’am.” Sam jokes, earning a glance from his big brother. “Hey, Dean, do you think that Bobby will make us hot chocolate tonight?”  
“I don’t know, maybe. Last year he did.”  
“Are we going to his house for Christmas?”  
“I think so. I don’t think that Dad would come home anyway.” Dean can’t help but feel like shit at that. He likes Bobby, _a lot,_ but he would love to spend Christmas with his Dad too, possibly sober. He runs an hand through his hair, thinking. He still needs to buy Sam something. Which is pretty difficult, considering that the money he has left for that month are barely enough to buy enough food to not die. He bites his bottom lips, looking down to his brother.  
“And will be there Jo and Ellen too?”  
“Probably.”  
“Ellen and Bobby are pretty close, aren’t they?” Dean smirks, squeezing his shoulder.  
“That’s not any of your business, kid.”  
“Dean, you are a kid too.”  
“Don’t you dare sassing me.” Sam chuckles, his breath forms white little clouds in front of his mouth.  
“Are they in love, Dean?” he has to think about that for a minute. Ellen’s husband died years ago, when Jo was, like, two or three. Since then, she and Bobby did grow pretty closer.  
“I think they are, even if probably Bobby is too stubborn to admit it.”  
“Why?”  
“I don’t know, maybe he’s afraid that she doesn’t feel the same, you know. I don’t know, you should ask him.”  
“But Ellen loves him, I’m sure. It’s obvious, the way they look at each other.”  
“Then tell them.”  
“I’ll do it. It will be my present for them.”  
“That’s smart of you, so you don’t have to buy a real present.” Sam laughs, moving closer to Dean.  
“Look, Dean! Here’s the first one!” Dean follows Sam’s finger to an house full of Christmas lights, with a fake snowman on the front yard, near a real one. Dean smiles.  
“Our snowman is, like, a thousand times better!” they keep walking, pointing at each house full of lights and decorations they see, making stupid comments and bad jokes.  
“What do you call an elf who sings?”  
“How, Dean?”  
“A wrapper.” Dean laughs, while Sam stares at him with his best bitch-face. “C’mon, Sammy. It was funny.”  
“You are such a jerk, Dean.” he says, but then he huffs a laugh anyway. “Okay I have one too.”  
“Shoot.”  
“Do you know who never eat on Christmas?”  
“Who?”  
“The turkey because it’s stuffed.”  
“Oh my God, Sam. And _you_ were telling me that _mine_ was a bad joke!” and then both of them are laughing, until they can’t breathe anymore.  
For a while they just walk in silence, Dean holding Sam’s hand, while they look at the decorated houses.  
“Dean?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Do you think that we are gonna be a real family, one day?” Dean frowns.  
“We _are_ a family, Sam.”  
“Dad is never at home, when he is, he’s drunk. And we don’t have a mum. Why don’t we have a mum like the other kids?” Dean looks away, tightening the grip on his brother’s hand. He doesn’t answer, his voice locked in the back of his throat. “Dean?” he has to close his eyes, trying to hold back the tears. He always has to when someone talks about their screwed up family like that. It feels like he’s failing Sam. Which probably is true.  
_Never enough, Dean. Even Sammy knows it._  
“Dean I’m sorry.” Sam whispers, and the next second he’s hugging him. Dean flinches, surprised, but then immediately melts  in his brother’s hug. He leaves a soft kiss on the top of his head.  
“I’m sorry, Sammy.”  
_I’m sorry for not being enough for you. Sorry because you don’t have a mother and the father that you deserve. Sorry if I let you down so many times._  
“It’s okay, Dean. It’s not your fault. And we don’t need a mum or a dad anyway. _We_ are a family. _You_ are my family, Dean.” Dean can’t hold back a tear, that slides down to his cheek, while he hold Sam tighter.  
“I’m sorry, Sammy. You are my family too.” Sam smiles, against his chest.  
“C’mon, let’s go home, I want to read my book.” Dean slyly wipes away that tear, and smiles back.  
“You are such a nerd.”  
“Jerk.”  
“Bitch.”  
   
Dean tucks his knife under the lower stash of the window, moving the top of the blade in order to make the lock shifts. After a few minutes he manages to unlock the window, and opens it. Silently he enters in the house, finding himself in the living room. He looks around for a few second, everyone seems to be asleep upstairs.  
Then he look at his target. The Christmas tree, with the presents under it. Dean slowly move toward them, praying for nothing to creak. He reaches the tree and quickly picks up three of the gifts, hoping that they are boy’s gift. Though, he’s pretty sure that  the family that leaves in that house only has two young boys, pretty much Sam’s age, so they should be fine. At least, he hopes so. He doesn’t want a thing like the last year, when he stole girl presents.  
Doing his best to don’t make a single noise –again, Dad’s training actually was useful for something- he walks back to the window, climbs over it, and closes it again. Then he runs as fast as he can, his feet that make a loud noise in the empty road every time they hit the ground, holding the stolen presents against his chest.  
He arrives at home that he’s breathless, and even if it’s really _really_ cold outside, he’s sweating. With shaking hands he puts the key into the lock of his door and rushes back in the house. He leans against the door for a while, just breathing with his eyes closed. When he feels like he won’t fall if he moves, he walks into their small, messy living room and leaves the presents under the tree. It’s actually a pretty pathetic tree, with poor decoration, because that’s all Dean was able to buy. Plus, Dad had broken a bunch of balls. He wipes the sweat away from his forehead.  
_Fine, you’re fine. Everything is fine._ He looks up at the clock on the wall.  
3 a.m.  
Sam won’t wake up for at least other five hours, so he figures that he has a lot of time to sleep, before he has to wake up again to prepare their usual Christmas’ breakfast.  
He enters in Sam’s room, smiling at his sleeping brother, curled under the blankets. He leaves a sweet kiss on his forehead, tucking the blankets.  
“’Night, Sammy.”  
   
“Sam! Sam wake up!”  
“What?” he mumbles, still pretty asleep. Dean laughs, shaking him up.  
“It’s Christmas, Sammy! I made breakfast, and there’s a surprise for you under the tree.” He immediately wakes up, rushing out of the bed. Dean laughs again, following him downstairs.  
“Presents! Look Dean!”  
“Told you.” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. He watches his brother unwrapping the gifts with a fond smile on his face. Sam looks so happy while he plays with his new fake airplane. He also got a small version of Hulk, that apparently even makes horrible sounds, and a new football, which is great, because theirs broke months ago. “Come here, eat something.” Dean spent the last day baking things for that morning. He made apple pie, chocolate muffins, and that morning eggs and bacon. He puts on some old Christmas song on their crappy stereo and they eat chatting, both of them excited for the great lunch at Bobby’s house.  
“Dean?” Sam calls after a few minutes of silent, he looks nervous.  
“Yeah?” Dean asks, mouth full of pie –he really loves pie.  
“I have a present for you too.” Dean almost chocks on his pie, because where the hell did Sammy find the money to buy him something? He doesn’t want his little brother to put himself in trouble stealing stuff as he does. He only does it _precisely_ to avoid Sam to do the same.  
“Really?”  
“Yeah, I made it myself.” He says, proudly. Sam stands up and runs in his room, only to come back a minute later with a small package. Dean takes it smiling, and unwraps it. It’s a necklace. A black wire with a sort of golden face with corns as pendant. “Bobby gave it to me. He told me it’s something really special and _magic,_ it’s supposed to protect you, I think. I don’t really know.” Dean looks up into his eyes and smiles, a big, proud smile.  
“I love it, Sammy. Thank you.” Sam smiles back, going back at the table to finish his muffin.  
   
Then Dean is fourteen and Sam is ten.  
It’s his first day of highschool, and Dean’s not sure what or where he’s supposed to do or to go. The school is so much bigger than his middle school, and the immense crowd of student is pretty disorienting. Someone looks at him, most just ignores him, walking by.  
Somehow, he manages to find his locker, and he’s opening it when someone leans an hand on his shoulder. He flinches, surprised and already ready to fight.  
“Are you new?” the guy asks. Dean blinks, staring at him for a few seconds. Then nods. The guys chuckles, stepping back a bit and stretching out his hand. “Benny Lafitte. I have the locker near yours.” Dean briefly turns to watch his locker, then immediately focus again on this guy.  
“Dean Winchester.” He introduces himself, taking Benny’s hand. His grip is strong.  
“Nice to meet you, Dean.”  
“Are you a freshman too?”  
“Yep. Just moved from Louisiana, it’s nice here.”  
“Why did you move?”  
“My father’s work. What’s your first class?” Dean looks down at his schedule.  
“English.”  He answers, and Benny smiles a bit.  
“Cool, me too. Do you have any idea where the class is?” Dean chuckles.  
“No idea, man.”  
“Seems we are in the same shitty boat, brother.”  
   
It’s not a surprise that Benny and Dean immediately becomes best friends. And now, where’s Dean, Benny’s with him, and vice versa. They just stick together, both of them surprised by how many interests they share: football, film, music, tv shows, apple pie…  
Also, even if they are only freshmen, the whole school already know them.  
And this is because they are just too good to organize all kind of pranks.  
They’re last plan is going to begin in a few minutes.  
“ _Ready Dean-o?”_ Benny asks through the phone. The blonde boy chuckles.  
“Hell yeah. Ash, are you there?”  
“ _Sure, man.”_    
“Good, three, two, one…let them go!” on three different part of the school Dean, Benny and Ash let go the collar of three fat pigs, each of them marked by a big, black number. 1,2 and 4. Dean chuckles, as he runs back to his class. He just has the time to enter it that the bell rings, signaling the end of the second block. And as the students exit the room, three pigs are running up and down the hallways, and soon enough Dean hears both screams and laughs. He sees Mr. Smith spitting up his coffee, assaulted by Pig Number One.  
Less than a minute later he hears the principal’s voice, Mr. Delano, through the speakers.  
“ _All the students are required to go back to their classes, while the staff is asked to look around in order to find the four pigs that- oh my God, oh no- pig don’t you da- shit!”_ there are then some weird noise, an incredible acute scream for an old man as Mr. Delano, other stuff shifting, the unmistakable grunt of a pig, some swearing and then Mr. Delano is speaking again. “ _The students must go back to their classes, GODDAMMIT get off!”_ someone laughs. “ _If I find the asshole who did this, I swear to God-”_ then the communication goes off.  
Other laughs, and then Dean is approached by Benny. He smiles widely to his best friend, around them, most of the students are now bended in a half laughing.  
“That was _great,_ brother!”  
“Aw man, we’re the best.” Dean and Benny are then approached by a couple of guys.  
“Did you two do this?” Dean knows them, they’re seniors. Both of them in the football team.  
“It depends. Who’s asking?” Dean demands, looking straight at them both, with his usual grin. The two guys chuckle.  
“You two are damn good, guys. To be freshmen, of course.” Dean’s smirk grows bigger.  
“Of course.” He echoes.  
“Just sayin’, guys.  Ever thought about being part of the football team?”  
“Sport isn’t really our thing.” Benny says, sharing a look with his best friend, who just nods briefly.  
“Just think about it, selections are next Tuesday, you should try.” Then the two are gone, disappeared in the crown. Dean turns to face Benny.  
“What do you think? What about football?” Benny grins, leaning an hand on his shoulder and starts walking, dragging Dean with him.  
“I think we’re gonna kick asses.”  
The fun part was that the school closed for the next two days, all the staff looking for a Pig Number Three that didn’t exist.  
That’s how Dean Winchester and Benny Lafitte became popular, and then got two weeks of detention.  
   
“There he is.”  
“This is awesome!”  
“I think I might seriously love that mariachi band.”  
“Do you think Mr. Delano likes Mexican music?”  
Those are only a few examples of the comments Dean heard while walking down the hallway. He smirks again, hands in the pocket of his football’ team sweatshirt.  
While he walks, people whispers about him, looking at him, someone in awe, someone amused, someone envious.  
Of course, _everyone_ is talking about his and Benny once again.  
This is because their latest prank is in act right now, which is why Mr. Delano, has been followed the whole day by a Mariachi band. Literally, ten Mexican man, with black mustaches and _sombreros,_ that have followed him around the school the whole day, playing their instruments. In particularly, every time the principal stops the trump signals it with a loud sound.  
Mr. Delano, though, looks on the edge of a panic attack, or an emotional break down. Dean chuckles to himself, approaching Benny, that is standing near the cafeteria.  
“Hey man, how’s going?”  
“Brother, the whole school is speaking ‘bout us.”  
“Yeah I know. I found a bunch of telephone numbers in my locker earlier.”  
“Are you gonna break the hearts of those poor ladies?”  
_“Poor_? Man, _they_ gave me their numbers, and who am I to deny hours of pure joy to those lovely girls?” Dean smirks again, running an hand through his messy hair. “Coming to my place after football practice?” Benny nods, smiling.  
“Sure thing man, gotta kick your ass at FIFA.”  
“You wish.”  
   
“Dean, you’re gonna get yourself expelled!” Sam laughs as Dean  and Benny tell him about the Mariachi Band. “And what Delano did?”  
“What could he do? The Mariachi Band was just sticking to his ugly ass.”  
“How do you know he has an ugly ass?” Benny asks. “Paid attention to that?”  
“We literally discussed about everyone’s ass in the whole school together, Benny.”  
“True that.”  
“That’s gross, Dean.” Sam’s eyes were sparkling as he looks at his big brother, and after a long, _long,_ time, Dean feels like he has done something right, because Sam is looking at him like that, like he’s _good_ , full of admiration and respect, and suddenly Dean can’t stop smiling. He runs an hand through Sammy’s hair, leaving a kiss on top of his head – _Stop, Dean!-_ then he stands up and turns to Benny.  
“Staying for dinner?” he asks, and Benny just nods briefly. Then he turns to the kitchen, as Sam and Benny go back to the videogame they were playing.  
Dean smiles fondly, looking at his best friend and his brother screaming and laughing while he warms up some pizza.  
And for a while, everything it’s just good as it is.  
   
Dean is bleeding, but he doesn’t remember why. His view is blurred, as he was watching the world through a glass. Though, he’s pretty sure there’s no glass.  
Also, there’s pain. So much pain.  
_Focus, Dean._  
Suddenly he remembers why he was bleeding. His Dad has beaten the shit out of him, again. He closes his eyes, shaking.  
_Focus, Dean._  
And finally he also remembers _why._  
Ah, yes, of course. Apparently someone had called at home a few hours ago, and miraculously his Dad was home to pick up.  
Dean swears in his mind that he will kill that son of a bitch that called and told his Dad that he and Benny were dating.  
Of course it wasn’t true – _we’re just friends, Dad!-_ but it didn’t stop John from throwing him whatever he could reach and then beating the shit out of him with a goddamn baseball bat.  
Now Dean is in pain.  
_Bitch, faggot, slut, queer._  
Those words keep echoing in his mind.  
God, he can’t even breathe.  
His last thought before passing out is that he could at least having _actually_ fucked Benny, since he was going to die because his Dad thought he did so.  
Dean hates his life sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this chapter, please leave a comment or kudos, I'd love to hear what my readers think, or if you have some suggestions don't hesitate!  
> Warnings:  
> -Child abuse  
> -Child neglect  
> -Selectively mute! Dean (very brief)  
> -John being an asshole  
> -Homophobia  
> -Homophobic language


	6. Shape of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, guys, this was a struggle. My wi-fi hasn't been working for like two weeks and I could post anything, so sorry guys!   
> Hope you didn't forget about me and this story, I'll try to make it up to you with this chapter. I personally think it came out pretty good. As usual I apologize for any mistake and error.  
> Have fun reading it!  
> Song: Shape of you by Ed Sheeran  
> Warnings and more details at the end

_I’m in love with the shape of you_  
 _We push and pull like a magnet do_  
 _Although my heart is falling too_  
 _I’m in love with your body_  
   
“Too tight?” you ask. Dean shakes his head, his long eyelashes that almost entirely cover the green of his eyes. “With your words, Dean.” You reprove him.  
“No, Cas, it’s fine. I’m not a little flower.” You smirk, while finishing tying him at the headboard of the bed.  
You are in Dean’s room at the hotel, it’s dark outside and his wrists are now tied at his king’s size bed. All of this was a Dean’s idea, of course, but it’s not like you were really displeased by it. Sometimes Dean makes you feel like a virgin, with all of his ideas.  
You run a hand through his soft hair, pulling back his head a little bit, showing his throat. Your lips move down to his earlobe, biting it gently. You slide your tongue down to his jawline next, and lower to his neck, where you suck red marks.  
“C’mon Cas.” The way he says your name, dark and low, ends straight between your thighs –what does this man do to you, and to your dick?  
“Impatient?” a pause. “Being tied makes you horny?” you smirk.  
“Pretty much, yeah.” You lift up to look into apple-green eyes. Dean’s eyes are one of the most beautiful thing you have ever seen –Dean himself is one of the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.  
“Are you sure about this, Dean?”  
“ _I_ proposed this, Cas. I wouldn’t if I wasn’t sure. Now, would you please start before my dick goes limp?” he teases you, and you can’t help but grin. Okay, maybe you have something for the control, but he doesn’t seem particularly sad about it.  
“Anything you want, Dean.” He lets out a sigh. You slide your hands all over hid naked skin, worshipping his gorgeous body. Dean is so beautiful, and you are _starving_ for his golden, soft skin. The way Dean immediately reacts to your touch, shifting or letting out  small moans, damn, drives you crazy, and you will never get tired of him.  
You kiss him, and he immediately parts his lips, letting you taking the control.  
That’s a thing Dean does often, leaving you in charge, letting himself completely go.  
Slowly, you push the plug into his already open hole, and Dean’s whole body tenses, as he gasps, arching his back.  
“Here what will happen. You have to hold yourself back while we go through all the ten levels, three times. And after that I will fuck you senseless, and _then_ you’ll be allowed to come. Do you understand, Dean?” he needs to take a deep breath before answering, you can almost _feel_ the adrenaline and the expectation running in his veins.  
“Yes, sir.” your eyes darken at that last word, and he smirks, relaxing on the bed, leaning his head back into the pillow. The bastard.    
The first button is not bad, Dean’s almost relaxed. You just stare at him, trying to keep your hands off of his body for more than ten seconds.  
The second is still fine, as the third. The fourth starts to make Dean some problems. He chews his bottom lip, shifting on the bed. It’s a mistake. The movement makes the plug slide inside his ass, and you are pretty sure that now it’s vibrating against his prostate. You grin.  
“Fuck.”  
“I told you not to move, Dean.”  
“You didn’t –oh shit.” you bends over him, leaving soft kisses over his shoulder, his chest covered in small, little scars, your hands steady on his hips. “Fuck, Cas.” his skin burns under your fingers.  
“It’s only the fifth button, Dean.” you tease, a grin on your lips. Dean throw back his head, moaning.  
“You are not helping me –Jesus Christ!” you bite his neck, hearing his last groan. Dean arches his back, and he’s beautiful. You follow the perfect curve of his spine with your finger, your lips that are barely touching his stomach. Dean lets out another groan from the back of his throat, pulling the handcuffs. “Shit, fuck.” Another moan, that grown even lauder when you raise the level once again. Now he’s shaking under you, and God, he’s so _gorgeous_.  
“Oh my god, Cas, please, fuck, I-“ you shut him with a kiss, because if he starts begging you’re not sure you will be able to hold yourself back from taking him right now.  
The seventh button makes him scream like a fucking pornstar. His hips instinctively thrust into _nothing,_ the green of his eyes completely swallowed by the black of his pupils, the handcuffs clanking against the headboard.  
You brush your thumb against his pink and chewed bottom lip, his eyes locked with yours.  
“Jesus, Dean. You should see yourself right now.” you whisper, leaving a kiss on the top of his hard cock. He gasps, his whole body shivers.  
“Cas, Sir, please, I’m-“ his voice breaks the second you push the eighth button. He cries out you name once again “Sir! Fuck, _Cas!”_ he lifts his hips up, towards your mouth, but you are fast to push him back into the mattress.  
“You’re doing so good, Dean. So good for me, always so good. Always so beautiful.” You say, and then take the top of his dick between your lips. The whole bed slaps against the wall, when he pulls the handcuffs. You don’t stop, there’s something intoxicant in having Dean like this. Submissive, powerless, tied, _yours._  
By the time you reach the ninth button, Dean is a moaning, whining, shaking mess. From his mouth comes out a river of nonsense words, mixed with moans and the only thing that makes actually sense is your name, repeated again and again, while his body tenses and shivers under you.  
You leave another kiss on his neck, caress his chest, squeez his pink nipple between your fingers.  
“You’re doing great, Dean. You are almost there. Can you hold back, Dean? Can you hold back for me a little bit longer?” he nods frenetically, gasping. “I want to hear you speaking, Dean, you know it.”  
“I-I can, yeah, _yes, Sir_. Cas, please.” He begs you, throwing back his head. He almost has tears in his eyes.  
He screams again when you pushes the last button, his hips snap again into nothing. His breath is hitched, his heart that bumps too quickly under your palm. You run your fingers all over his chest, worshipping his perfect body. You lean down to kiss each one of the small scars on his golden skin. And again, how is possible that you have been so lucky that you have the privilege to see this insanely gorgeous human being screaming under you _because of you?_  
“Mine.” You can’t help but whisper on his sweaty skin. He groans again. “You have been so good, Dean. So good for me.” And you put the plug back at level one.  
“Cas.” He gasps out, panting. You look up to his watery eyes, and his parted lips. “Cas, please, come here, _please,_ I ne-“ you push the rest of the sentence back in his throat kissing him, _devouring_ his mouth, tasting that flavor that is only _Dean._  
“Shh, shh, I got you, baby. I got you.” he moans again, his mouth reaching for yours, and who are you to deny him that kiss? And he kisses you back, basically melting in it, and you don’t know how you two will be able to go over this again. _Twice._ Fuck, you’re so screwed. “So good, baby. You did so good.” He only says your name, again and again, while you keep kissing him with all you have until he stops panting. You cup your hand on his cheek, brushing it gently, not even an inch to separate your lips. “Are you ready?”  
“I-I don’t know if I can do it again, Cas, I’m so fucking hard, I’m, Jesus, _Cas,_ please, I-“  
“Dean, breathe. You can do it, can’t you? Can you do it for me?” he hesitates a few seconds, and then nods.  
“Yes, Sir _.”_  
“Jesus Christ, Dean.” You bite his bottom lip, maybe a little bit too hard because you taste blood on your tongue. He shifts under you, while you raise the level again, totally melting in his body, lost in the way he reacts so perfectly even at the smallest brush, sliding closer to the edge every time he makes one of those perfect noise from the back of his throat.  
And it’s like being in a bubble, and you almost don’t realized you have reached the tenth button again for the _third_ time, and Dean is screaming under you. He screams your name, his back arched is a perfect curve, and the way he reaches for another kiss almost drives you insane.  
Dean kisses you hungrily, and desperate, and you know he’s close, _so_ close _,_ and when you push the last bottom, he bites you, his fingers convulsively clutch at the headboard. A tear runs down to his cheeks, and you wipe it away with your finger.  
“So beautiful, Dean. You are so _beautiful.”_  
“Please, Cas, please, I’m so close, need you, please, _need you.”_ you growl, and finally shut off the plug. “Please, please, Cas.” You slowly remove the plug from his ass, the lube that strains down between his cheeks.  
“I’m right here, Dean. Do you want me to untie you?” he just nods, breathless. He looks shattered. You take off the handcuffs, and he immediately grabs your shoulders, pulling you into a breath-taking kiss. And you hold him thigh, pulling him as close as you can.  
“Jesus Christ, Cas, please, fuck me right now Cas, please, _Cas.”_ He mumbles on your lips. You just nod, and make him lay on his back again.  
Fuck, you have never been this hard in your whole life. You brush your lips against his thighs and Dean’s hand flies through your hair.  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Cas, _please.”_ you chuckle, but lift up and look him into his eyes while you finally, _finally,_ thrust into his body and – _“Holy fuck, yes!”-_ it feels just _so_ good.  
Dean pulls you into another wet kiss, and you grab his hips so thigh that he probably will have bruises tomorrow, but just _don’t care._ Your mind simply blank out while you bury yourself into his hot body, and he rocks back, eager, never satisfied. You angle your thrusts, and hit his already battered prostate again and again, and his whole body arches once again, his ass that swallows you cock, and everything it’s just too much. Then you’re coming, hard, emptying yourself in his body, letting out a groan. Dean moans, biting your neck and then his face lights up while he comes all over both his and your stomach, lips parted looking for oxygen.  
You exit from his body after a few seconds, and cup his cheek again.  
“Dean?” you swallow hard, out of breath. “Are you okay?” he looks up at you, a tired smirk on his chewed lips.  
“I won’t be able to walk tomorrow. Or for the rest of the week.” And you laugh, and he laughs with you, and God, you _must_ kiss him, and feeling his laugh on your lips is almost better than the actual sex.  
You lean back, standing up because you two desperately need some paper to clean this mess, but then Dean grabs your wrist and looks at you with is big green eyes, still shaking, and you just stop.  
“I’m just going to take some towels to clean this mess, Dean.” he nods, letting you go. You clean the mess with a wet towel and throw it away. Than it comes the moment when you should leave. That’s your deal. You go, you get off, you leave.  
You look down at Dean, curled in the bed.  
You should leave. You don’t want to. You sigh, bending down to pick up your boxer –or maybe Dean’s, you’re not even sure. And then Dean grabs your wrist, looking up at you, all green eyes and pink lips.  
“Are you leaving?” he asks. You raise an eyebrow.  
“Do you want me to stay?” he flinches, letting you go.   
“If you want.” That’s so typical of him. You smile a bit, sitting down on the bed again. He sighs in relief. _So_ typical.  
“Are you okay?” you ask again. “Was it too much?”  
“I’m fine.” you kiss him, because you know, _you know,_ that he needs you to hold him, just hold him, even though he’s too proud to admit it. That’s another Dean’s thing, he’s _afraid_ to show emotions, and once again you wonder what this man hides behind that mask of sarcasm and indifference. How did he get those scars?  
But you don’t say anything. You just go back into the bed, leaning your head on the pillow, and Dean curls against you, head on your chest. Your arm naturally falls around his shoulder, his hand on your stomach. You turn off the light, and a few seconds later, he’s asleep.  
   
Your apartment is too quiet. Dean is loud, messy, _bright._ Now that you’re alone everything’s just- just blue. You don’t really like it. Quiet means that your thoughts are louder than ever.  
You move in your studio, taking out a white canvas and your paint and brushes. You don’t even know what you want to draw.  
Your eyes linger over the other paintings, on the floor, on the walls. Your art, twisted. Just like you.  
   
“You did _what?”_  
“I know, right?” Sam stares at you.  
“Wait, let me straight this up. You called Cas because you were bored, instead of just going to hook up with some random guy at some random bar as you usually do, and he came at the hotel. You two had sex- yeah, _I know,_ really good sex- and then _you invited him to sleep over the night._ Did I get everything right?”  
“Yes, pretty much.”  
“You really slept with somebody. And didn’t have sex with him.”  
“Well, I _had_ sex with him, but yeah, he stayed after that.”  
“And you were fine with it.”  
“It’s weird, right? I don’t know, I just…I don’t know. Didn’t wanna stay alone I guess. Plus, we were both exhausted. As I said, _really_ good sex.” Sam just stares at you for a while, your mind that tries to figure out _why_ you wanted Cas to stay with you. You have never wanted to spend the night with someone like that since, well, since _Alastair._ Immediately you have to fight back his memories. Jesus, why you can’t eve _think_ to his _name_ without feeling like drowning?  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“Dean, do you like him?”  
“What?”  
“Do you have a crush on Castiel?” Sam asks with a grin on his face. You put on your best disgusted-astonished expression.  
“ _Excuse you,_ what?”  
“Yeah, I mean, it’s normal. People _have_ feelings, Dean. Even you.”  
“Shut the fuck up, bitch. I _don’t have_ a crush on Cas.”  
“But you slept with him. Did you have any nightmares?” he asks again. You look away, biting you bottom lip.  
“No.”  
“Dean, that’s great!”  
“Yeah, it is.” And it really is, and you should be happy as a fucking kid during Christmas, because it’s a miracle. Your nights are usually hunted by nightmares that always, _always,_ send you into a really bad place, making you sink into memories, but not this night. This night you slept with Cas, and you actually _slept._ No sex, no nightmares.  
It’s just too fucking weird.  
You leave Sam’s office doing your best to don’t think how good Cas’ arm felt around your shoulder, how comforting was hearing his heart bumping under your ear, how intoxicant was his smell, how _good_ was the warm that you felt in your stomach when he pulled you closer, leaving a soft kiss on your head.  
Dean Winchester doesn’t have _feelings._ Not like that, at least. Not anymore.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guys, did you like this chapter? Let me know in the comment section, I love hearing your opinions!  
> Warnings:  
> -edgeplay  
> -handcuffs  
> -dom/sub  
> -super brief mention of past abuse


	7. Whenever I will go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear there's a reason for why I'm always posting late, but I still have to make up one, so, whoops.  
> Anyway, how are you guys? Here we have another smutty (very smutty) chapter, because smut is the only thing I know how to write.  
> So, please enjoy, and leave a kudos or a comment, I always love to hear what you guys think!  
> Song: Whenever I will go by The Calling  
> See the end for more notes and details!

_So lately, been wondering_  
_Who will be there to take my place_  
_When I’m gone, you’ll need love_  
_To light the shadows on your face_  
  
When Dean invited you to dinner with Sam and Gabe, you were expecting this.  
You were expecting his hand sliding up and down your thigh, palming your raising dick.  
The fucking bitch.  
You glare at him, but he doesn’t even turn, pressing his fingers down, over your rock-hard dick, talking with Gabe about something you don’t care about.  
Sam has been trying to make conversation with you for a couple of minutes, talking about his favorite art movements, and you would be really interested, if it wasn’t for Dean’s fucking hand.  
You expect him to get up and go to the bathroom at any moment just like last time, so you can fuck him against the wall. But he doesn’t do anything like that. He undoes your belt instead, and opens the zip –doesn’t even have to look, fucking whore- and slips a hand under your briefs. You wince.  
“Castiel?”  
“Yes?”  
“What- what do you think of abstract art?” you blink, trying to understand the question.  
_Abstract art?_  
“Hey Cas, what’s your favorite color?” Dean asks.  
“My-  
“I bet it's white. I bet you love painting everything white.” He interrupts, grinning, stroking your dick.  
The image of Dean’s gloriously naked ass, painted white with your cum, explodes in your head.  
Good God.  
He will pay for this.  
“Actually it’s green, Dean. Apple green.”  
   
The second you make it home to Dean’s room at the Hotel, he slams you against the door, his hands tucking at your shirt to take it off. You grin in the hungry kiss, lifting your arms so he can take it off. You let his hands move on your chest, and it sends a thrill down your spin –being touched by Dean always does. It’s scarily addicting.  
Then you switch positions, pinning his wrists above his head against the door, and he moans loudly in your mouth. At that point you force yourself to break the kiss.  
“Hello, Dean.” he grins sheepishly at you, his eyes shining, pinks lips already swollen.  
“Hey, Cas.” he answers back, pushing his hips forward, grinding on your crotch. Little bitch. “I got a surprise for you.” you raise an eyebrow.  
“A surprise? What are we celebrating?” he chuckles.  
“Do we necessarily have to have something to celebrate?” you shrug.  
“I suppose we don’t.” you have to fight the strong impulse to erase that shit-eating grin from his face, so you pull him into another breath-taking kiss. He kisses you back, his whole body pushing forward to touch yours. It’s endearing, really. “Wait, what is this surprise?” you ask, biting gently the soft skin of his neck. He rests his head on the door behind him, smirking.  
“Let me go and I’ll show you.” he says, voice low and sexy. So you finally let his hands go, and immediately he takes yours and drags you toward his bed. He pushes you back, and you let yourself fall on the soft sheets. You lift yourself up, resting your back on the pillows.  
Dean takes off his shirt, staring at you only in his black pants. The warm light of the sunset washes his skin in gold, his eyes brighter than ever. He licks his bottom lip, looking at you like you’re his prey. Your hands itch with the need to touch him.  
He undoes his pants, and you see a flash of red.  
He hooks two fingers under the waist of the pants, biting his lips, his eyes shining with lust. Dean is smirking when he pushes them down and you can feel your eyes grow wider, your mouth hanging open. Because _this_ shouldn’t be legal. This is one of your wet dreams coming to reality. Your cock twitches, _very_ interested.  
You should have expected this from Dean. Really.  
You let your eyes wander over Dean’s leg, covered in thin, black thighs, over his hard cock barely covered by a pair of red and black, lacy panties. A little fucking bow on the front. They hang at his hips, stretched to contain all that _stuff,_ and they’re just made for him. You can’t, you just can’t.  
You stand up before you realize it, moving closer. Dean leans in, looking for a kiss, but you take his chin, forcing him to look you into the eyes. You can feel Dean shivering, his lips parted.  
“Stay still.” You order, letting go of his chin. You turn around, dragging your hands over his hips, hooking a finger under the soft material of the panties.  
“Yes, Sir.” Your dick twitches again at the name, it feels good. You move your hand on his cheek, grabbing a handful of his ass. God, you love his ass so much.  
“I bet you couldn’t wait to show me this.” You say absently. You slap his right cheek hard, and he whimpers, actually fucking _whimpers,_ and you _need_ to get more of those delicious sounds. “I bet you want me to fuck you in this, is that want you want, Dean?” you slip your hand under the lace, and then it’s your turn to groan.  
“A plug.”  
“I wanted to do this right.” He replies quickly, smirking. God, this man is going to be the death of you.  
You push him on the bed.  
“You fucking whore.” You hiss. Dean pulls you in another breath-taking kiss, his hands tugging at your hair. You press him into the mattress, spreading his legs wide. He moans, the plug probably shifting in his ass. You take a second to admire the sight in front of your eyes.  
You wander your fingers over his stomach, kiss his chest, take his left nipple between your teeth, biting it gently. Dean moans, his hands flying through your hair. You instantly grab them, pinning them down above his head.  
You kiss his neck then, sucking red, possessive marks on his golden, freckled skin.  
“Cas.” he pants.  
“Tell me what you want, Dean.”  
“You- I, _ah,_ want you.” he whispers, you suck another mark on his collarbone. Then a couple on his chest. On his stomach, until a trail of red hickeys cross his body, from his neck to his hips. You pull gently at the panties, feeling the nice material under your fingers, a wet spot on the front. You smirk, Dean hasn’t moved.  
“You’ll have to be more specific, Dean.”  
“I want you to fuck me, Cas. Hard and rough.” Your dick twitches. “I wanna feel it for a week.” He says, smirking. You arch an eyebrow.  
“I think you’ll have to be more persuasive than that, Dean.” you say, reaching down for the plug. You twist it a couple of time, pushing it deeper. Dean moans. “I think I’ll make you beg for it.” you bend down, sucking his earlobe between your lips. He shivers under you, and you grin. “Where do you keep all your toys, Dean?”  
“Cas-  
“Where?” you repeat, finger digging in his hip. He smirks.  
“Closet, black box.” You leave him immediately, and he flinches at the loss of contact. You open the closet, digging through flannels and jackets, until you see the famous black box, buried under a couple of pants. You take it out, opening.  
_Oh._  
Dean has every kind of sex toys on the market.  
What a kinky bitch.  
“What a collection you’ve got here, Dean.”  
“Lucky you.”  
“Yes, lucky me.” You take a pair of handcuffs, a purple vibrator, and a cockring, just because you’re going to have some fun. “On your hands and knees.”  
You go back to the bed, and when Dean sees what you picked he immediately hands out his wrists, his eyes shining with lust. You smirk handcuffing his wrists to the headboard, so that he has to bend over. You move behind him, silently gasping at the sight. Dean’s perfect ass barely covered by those panties, and the high thigs, it’s something you will never forget. Then you lower the panties enough to close the cockring around his hard dick.  
You run your finger over his cheek, slapping it with your hands. He flinches, letting out another moan.  
“Cas.”  
“You like that, don’t you?”  
“Yeah, yes, Cas.” you grin, thinking about getting a whip. Oh God, that sounds like a good idea. But first things first. You push the panties on the side, and push the plug deeper in his ass. Dean whimpers, his body moving forward.  
“Hold still.” You order, and he nods. You fuck his ass with the plug a couple of times, before pulling it out. He gasp, and you need a second to take in the sight of Dean’s ass in hot, silky panties, his hole clutching around _nothing._ You immediately shove two fingers inside, and they slide in easily, thanks to the abundance of lube that Dean used earlier, it’s so much it runs down between his thighs. _God._ You watch your fingers disappear into his ass, it’s like watching a fucking porn in 3D.  
Then you take the vibrator and turn it on. You scissor your fingers him open, making sure he’s loose enough, and then push the vibrator inside.  
“Tell me where, Dean.” you say, looking for his sweet spots. Dean pants, and not even twenty second after, he whimpers again, arching his back, exposing his ass even more.  
“Right- fuck, Cas- right there, God-  
“Good.” You leave the vibrator there, covering it again with the panties. Time to get that cane. “I’ll be right back, don’t move.”  
You stand up and quickly get the cane you saw in the closet behind the box.  
“You have been very bad, tonight.”  
“Was I?”  
“Doing what you did in the middle of the restaurant, where our brothers could have seen us, Dean, was very naught of you.”  
“And what do you plan on doing, _Sir?”_ you smirk, running your knuckles over his ass.  
“Bad boys get punished, Dean. Do you understand?”  
“Yes, Sir.”  
“Red, yellow, green?”  
“Yes, Sir.” You smile.  
**_“_** Good. Count for me out loud, mh?”  
“Yes, Sir.” And so you start. You give a few blow just to warm up a bit, watching as his skin slowly turns to a pretty pink. You make it your goal of the day to turn it as red as the panties.  
Dean moans when you hit his right cheek a little harder, arching his back.  
“Eleven.” He whispers. Dean arching his back like this, exposing himself so willingly to you makes you growls with arousal, your dick twitching. You palm yourself just a second to release some of the pressure. It doesn’t really help.  
You run your fingers over the perfect curve of his spin, over the smooth, golden skin, and he sucks in a gasp. He shivers under your touch, and you smirk.  
The next blow hits his hole, and you’re sure it pushed the vibrator deeper. Dean’s whole body move forward, he almost screams, throwing back his head.  
“Twelve!”  
“What a good boy.” You soothe the skin of his gorgeous ass. “What’s your color?”  
“Green.” He answers immediately, and you hum satisfied. Dean is so perfect, always so good, always so beautiful, so gorgeous.  
Left cheek. Right cheek. Right cheek.  
“Fifteen.” He gasps, his legs shaking with the effort of holding him up. His ass is starting to turn red. Nice. You run your hand over his tensed shoulders, covered in white scars and bright freckles.  
“Sixteen, sevent- seventeen!” Dean cries out when you hit his left cheek a little harder, his skin now definitely bright red. You don’t stop though. And something makes you think Dean doesn’t want you to stop either. So you keep going, enjoying every little moan and whimper Dean makes, the way his body shakes, how willing and _submissive_ he is right now.  
Yours. All yours.  
“Twenty-five!” Dean whimpers, throwing back his head.  
“Color?”  
“Green, green, Cas, please, Sir, I’m so hard, _please_ -  
You smile, dropping the cane. You run your fingers through his hair, gently pulling his head back.  
“You have been very good, Dean.” he moans, closing his eyes, following your touch.  
You leave a trail of wet kisses over his spine, his muscles tensed under your lips and hands.  
Then you cup his ass with both your hands and he whimpers, his whole body shivering. The skin is bright red, the marks from the cane a little darker, it looks fucking beautiful, the panties still around his hips.  
“Dean.” you leave a kiss on his cheek, his skin hot.  
“Cas- Cas, please, need you, need you so bad, Cas-  
“Beg for it, Dean.” you say, pushing the panties aside, uncovering his wet, swollen hole.  
“Please, Cas, _please,_ fuck me, God-  
“What do you need, Dean?” you push the vibrator deeper. Dean actually fucking screams like a goddamn pornstar, and God, you’re not going to last long if he keeps this up.  
“Need your cock in me, need you to fuck me, Cas, Sir, please fuck me, fuck me, fuck-” you pull the vibrator out in a single, dry move, lube dripping between his thighs, and you push two fingers inside his hole. He moans again, louder. You know this is not necessary, he’s already stretched enough, but you like seeing him suffering. You grin, watching Dean tugging at the handcuffs.  
“Sir, please, need your cock, need it, please.” Dean begging will always remain one of your favorite thing in this world. You finally withdraw your fingers, and he shivers again.  
“Beautiful.” You whisper absently, finally taking off your pants and underwear. You groan, your cock finally free stands proud between your legs. You kneel on the bed behind Dean, grabbing his hip with one hand, pushing the panties on the side with the other.  
When your head moves past the ring of muscles is like going home. You both moan, as you slowly sink all the way in, until your hips rest against his thighs. He moans, his red ass must sting so bad right now. You slap his cheek just because you can and he tugs harder at the handcuffs.  
“Fuck yeah, Cas, yeah, like that.”  
You pick up a brutal pace, your hips slamming hard against his red ass, your dick bottoming all the way out before thrusting _deep_ and _hard_ inside every time. Dean moans louder and louder. You press a hand at the base of his back, and he arches it again, it’s fucking amazing.  
Dean is so hot and tight around you, making all those obscene sounds, his body shivering under your touch. Then you find his battered prostrate and he just screams, gripping hard at the headboard, throwing back his head.  
“Fuck, Cas, right there, harder, Cas, please, please, oh God-“ you slip a hand under his stomach, stroking his dick in rhythm with your thrust. He chokes out a moan, gasping for air.  
It doesn’t take you long to come, painting his wretched hole white, and you wish you could take a picture, because it’s just so fucking perfect. _Dean_ is just so fucking perfect.  
“Cas, Cas, please, can I come, please, need it, need you, Cas, _please.”_ First you undo the handcuffs, and the you flip him over, so he lands on his ass. He winces, whimpering again, and you kneel between his spread legs. His face and neck are flushed, bringing out all the freckles, his green eyes bright and dark at the same time, shining with lust and want. He’s so beautiful it actually makes your heart ache.  
You kiss his neck, then his shoulder, his chest.  
“Cas, _please_.” You smirk, taking off the cockring. Dean sighs, his cock red and hard, throbbing. He just need a little push. You slip a hand under the panties, and start stroking his dick fast, and he arches in the bed again, his hands flying through your hair.  
“Come for me, Dean.” you whisper, your voice low and husky, and then bite down at his neck, not enough to break the skin, but definitely hard enough to leave a mark. “Mine.”  
And then Dean it’s coming, hard and hot, splashing all over both your stomachs and your hand. It’s so intense he passes out right there.  
   
When Dean comes back to reality, you have already cleaned up both of you, and you have made him lay down on his stomach, his ass in the air.  
“Hello, Dean.” he yaws, a smug grin on his pink lips.  
“That was awesome.”  
“How’s your ass?” he smirks.  
“I won’t be able to sit for a week.” You roll your eyes, sitting near him.  
“I have some, uh- aloe lotion. It’s supposed to be really good.” He stares at you, puzzled for a second, then nod. You pull away the sheets. Dean’s ass is bright red. You pour some lotion on your fingers, and start to spread it over his burning skin. He flinches, groaning.  
“You okay?”  
“I’ll survive.” He answers, burying his face in the pillows. You nod, leaning down to kiss his neck, his back. He hums satisfied, it makes you smile.  
“Do you want to take a bath?”  
“Should have done that before the lotion.” You frown. He’s right.  
“Shit.”  
“It’s okay, you can put more after.” He mumbles in the pillows.  
“Let me get you something to drink while the bathtub fills up.” You leave another little kiss on the top of his head. You take a bottle of water from Dean’s mini fridge and a cereal bar, and go back to the bed. Dean hasn’t move of an inch, the water running in the bathroom.  
“Here you go.” He takes the water and drinks most of it, and then quickly eat the bar too. “Let’s get you in the bathtub.” He nods and you take his hand, guiding him to the bathroom. Dean enters the bathtub, humming happily. You get in after him, and he immediately leans on you. You smile, wrapping his waist with an arm, running the other hand over his chest.  
This is so _domestic,_ so comfortable. You don’t want to move ever again.  
“You were so good for me, Dean.”  
“If all your punishments are like that I’ll have to be a bad boy more often.” He jokes. You chuckle, and for a while nobody says anything. He sighs when you start washing his hair, pouring some warm water over his head. You kiss his neck and his shoulders again –because you can’t physically stop- whispering praises.  
This is _too_ intimate, one of you should stop it. The problem is that feels so good, just the two of you, no one else. No hotels, no brothers, no people at all, no stress. Just you and Dean. It makes your chest warm, and your skin tingles pleasantly.  
This is intimate in a way a relationship like yours – _just sex, Castiel, only sex, this is not going to last-_ shouldn’t be. But that’s okay. You don’t really feel like moving.  
That night you sleep in Dean’s bed, his head on your chest, your legs tangled together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, guys, how did you like this chapter? Tell me in the comment sections  
> This is literally just plain smut, I don't even know.  
> Warnings (can I even call them that anymore?)  
> -handcuffs  
> -panties  
> -sextoys  
> -Dom/Sub


	8. Bleeding out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, what's up? I'm back only one day late and from my dad's computer because mine is broken! Yay!   
> Beside that, this is gonna be kinda of emotional -don't worry there's smut too, ah. It's the second chapter on Dean's past, and you'll get the angst, sorry not sorry.  
> Please read the warnings at the end of chapter, there are some bad stuffs down there.   
> That said, please enjoy the chapter and leave a kudos!  
> Song: Bleeding out by Imagine Dragons

_Oh you tell me to hold on  
But innocence is gone  
And what was right is wrong  
  
'Cause I'm bleeding out  
So if the last thing that I do  
Is to bring you down  
I'll bleed out for you_  
   
Dean is fifteen. Sam is eleven.  
Dean is so screwed. That’s what he think while his eyes track the back of Aaron Bass.  
“Brother.” Dean flinches, tearing his eyes away from Aaron’s butt. “Were you doing what I think you were doing?” Dean snorts, looking at Benny from the corner of his eyes.  
“What?” Benny smirks, leaning against his locker in the locker room. They’re just back from football practice, and honestly Dean is in pain. Both because the coach made them run their lives out of their bodies, and also because is stomach is twisted at the only thought of what’s going on in his mind –and his pants.  
“Were you stalking Bass?”  
“’course not.” He blurts out, slamming the door of his locker.  
 _So_ screwed.  
“Dean.” now Benny is serious, which is strange, because Benny’s never serious. Dean turns, not daring meeting his best friend’s eyes. “Dean…do you…do you like boys?” there’s no accusation in voice, just pure and genuine curiosity. He looks up. He _trusts_ Benny, as he trusts Sammy. He knows he’s not going to judge him.  
It doesn’t help.  
Hell, he’s not even sure himself.  
He knows Aaron Bass is gay, he came out about six months ago now, and he’s sixty-percent sure he likes him. Dean can say that because the guy is always sort of flirting with him, with his big brown eyes, the way he’s always looking for some kind of touch.  
Dean he’s only a sophomore, but he has had enough girls to recognize a flirt.  
God, he’s so screwed.  
 _Dad is gonna kill me._  
 _Focus, Dean. One problem at the time._  
“No.” he answers automatically. Benny just keeps staring at him, the locker room is empty. Dean rolls his eyes, reaching the sink. He washes his face with some cold water, even though he had a shower a few minutes ago. Benny is behind him, but Dean can’t take himself to meet his blue eyes.  
He just can’t.  
“Dean, you know you can trust me, right? I wouldn’t say anything to no one, you know that. I got your back, brother, as you got mine.” He just leaves an hand on his shoulder. Dean bites his lip.  
He knows Benny is not going to force him, that he will respect his privacy.  
But on the other side, Dean needs desperately to talk about it with someone. It’s like that thing, that secret, is devouring him by the inside.  
 _Bitch, faggot, slut, queer._  
Dean shivers, convulsively clenching his fists around the sink’s edge.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“Dean, you okay, brother?” he shakes his head.  
“I’m so screwed, Benny.” He whispers so quiet that for a second he thinks that Benny didn’t even hear him. But then his best friend grabs his shoulder, holding him up when he feels like his knees are going to give up. “Dad’s gonna kill me.”  
“Look, Dean, it’s fine. You don’t have to tell him right now. Hell, you don’t have to tell him _ever.”_ Dean looks up, finally meeting his eyes.  
“I’m so screwed.” He repeats. Benny smiles softly.  
“Not really, brother. Just because you like dudes doesn’t mean the world is going to end. Are you gonna pass out?”  
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He does feel kinda sick.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
Benny keeps holding him, and Dean focuses on breathing until he feels the panic is under control. He’s still shaking a bit.  
“So” Benny start. “Why Aaron Bass?”  
“No clue. I just…I just keep thinking about Aaron without any fucking reasons. It’s not…man, I don’t know. I just like the way he smiles, and I’m kinda of happy when we talk. And the other day, when he came over to study algebra, dude, I was just, I wanted to-” he stops, blushing all the shades of red. Benny laughs.  
“Soooooo cute.” He jokes, and Dean punches him on the shoulder.  
“Fuck you, you son of a bitch.”  
“You go, tiger. Go and get that great ass.”  
“Gross, man.” Benny chuckles again, and Dean runs his finger through his still wet hair. “So…it’s- is it fine with you?”  
“Of course. Ain’t gonna dishonor you because you like the dick too.”  
“I- uh- thanks?” Dean doesn’t know what else to say. He’s not good with words, never been. He just doesn’t do chick-flick moments.  
“So…are you going to wear rainbow clothes tomorrow?”  
“Fuck you, Benny.”  
   
Dean sighs, running an hand through his hair. He’s quite desperate.  
“What’s up, Dean?” he looks up to Sam.  
“Nothing.” He answers quickly.  “Why are you still up?”  
“I had some homework to finish.”  
“Are you done now?” Dean looks down at his watch, it’s almost midnight.  
“Yeah, what are you doing? What are this?” Sam picks up one of the paper Dean has spread on the kitchen table. He quickly moves to get the paper back, but Sam’s faster and he steps back, out of his reach.  
“Nothing.” He tries again.  
“Are this…bills? What the heck? When did we spend more than one four hundred dollars on alcohol?” he frowns. “This is Dad, isn’t he?”  
“It’s fine, Sammy, go to sleep. I got this, and you have school tomorrow.”  
“What’s all of this?” Sam asks instead, grabbing randomly other papers. Dean would like to say that he didn’t lie, but they are actually pretty screwed. There’s the water bill, the gas, the rent, the light, and all the money John spent without actually _having_ those money. Fuck.  
“Go to sleep.” He sighs, standing up. Sam looks up to him, his hazel puppy eyes are now worried.  
“We’re screwed, aren’t we?” he can’t lie to him, it’s not even worth trying. He should have never admitted that he can’t say no to the Puppy Eyes. Sam’s abusing of his power.  
“Don’t worry, I’ll…I’ll find a job, after school and during the weekends. I’ll handle this.”  
“You shouldn’t pay for Dad’s debts too.”  
“What am I supposed to do? Let those bastards beat him because he owns them money for booze?”  
“At least they have a reason to beat up someone.” He mutters. Dean flinches, looking away.  
“Go to sleep, Sammy.”he repeats. “It’s late.”  
“You have school too, Dean.”  
“I got some math to do.”  
“Dean-  
“Go.” He doesn’t look up, but after a few moments he hears Sam going to his bedroom, murmuring a “goodnight.”  
Dean sighs again, trying to think what kind of works he could do.  
   
“This is gonna be great, man”  
“Oh God, you guys will get yourself suspended.” Dean tsks at Charlie, the nerdy girl he met a few week ago.  
“C’mon, there’s no way he’s gonna know about us.”  
“Hey brother.” Benny approaches him, patting an hand on his shoulder. “Did he arrive?”  
“Not yet.” Dean shifts his weight from a leg to another, hands tugged in the pockets of his football team jacket. “He’ll arrive soon though.”  
And as Dean speak Mr. Delano appears on the main entrance. Charlie chuckles, leaning against the wall.  
“Act natural.”  
“Dean this is not a movie.”  
“Shut up, I always wanted to say that.”  
“Oh my God, you’re such a nerd.”  
“Look at who’s talking, Miss ‘I want to get in Hermione Granger’s panties’.”  
“Guys, shut up. He’s going inside.” Benny says, successfully obtaining their attention. The three of them fall in silence, as they watch Mr. Delano entering his office. The principal just stares at the room for a couple of seconds in pure shock.  
“Guys, the tv.” Dean turns, looking at the screen that usually shows pictures of the best students at school and news. Dean hopes Ash did his part, and he doesn’t have to wait longer to see the principal’s officer on the screen, recorded by an hidden camera.  
The three of them burst out laughing, as the students around them start to stop to look at the tv.  
Mr. Delano, still oblivious to being recorded, enters his office which is covered in tin foil. Every furniture, every pen, every inch of the wall or the floor has been minutely covered in tin foil.  
Which is the reason why both Dean and Benny have dark bags under their eyes, after having spent the whole night in that office.  
And now they watch as the students make fun of Mr. Delano’s shocked, red face, and the anger of the man while he watches _all_ of his things covered in annoying, noisy tin foil, as he starts screaming and cursing. His language would make a drug lord cry.  
“Oh, man. That’s great. Look at his face.” Dean laughs, grabbing Benny’s shoulder. His best friend laughs with him, stretching out his hand. Dean shakes it firmly, with a straight face. “We completed our mission.”  
“It’s been a pleasure to work with you.”  
“You guys are so weird.” Charlie teases. Dean smiles widely, impatient to tell everything to Sam about their last prank. He can already hear the whole school talking about them. Again.  
“Dean?” the blonde-haired guys turns, the smile that freezes on his lips, as he meets Aaron Bass’ eyes.  
“Hey Aaron.” Dean says, trying to sound casual. He hears Charlie chuckling behind him, and shots her a glare. “What’s up, man?” the guy looks sort of uncomfortable, or more likely embarrassed, his cheeks reddish.  
“I was…uh, ehm, wondering if- if, you, maybe-” Dean can’t help but smile in front of that, while Aaron’s eyes look everywhere but him. He puts on his cockiest smile and leans against the wall, pretending a confidence he doesn’t have. Dammit, he’s Dean Winchester, everybody’s wet dream, and if there’s a thing he can do, that’s getting a date.  
“Are you free on Saturday?” he asks before he can change his mind. Aaron raises is eyebrows, caught off guard.  
“Yes?” it sounds more like a question and Dean chuckles, his heart racing in his chest  
“Awesome. What about a movie?” Aaron blinks. Then smiles and nods.  
“Yeah, sounds great.”  
“Awesome. What’s your address, again?” Aaron takes a piece of paper and a pen from his backpack and quickly writes down his address _and_ his number. Dean takes it, carefully putting it away in his pocket. “Awesome. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He winks, and turns, not leaving him the time to say anything.  
He walks toward Benny and Charlie, now a few feet away from them, with a stupid, fond smile on his face.  
 _Damn_.  
“Brother?” Benny asks. Dean lifts the piece of paper with a triumphant grin, and Charlie immediately throw her arms around his neck. “That’s great, man.”  
“Yeah, apparently I have a date.”  
“You gotta buy something nice for this kid. I’m sorry for him that he will have to spend so much time with you.”  
“Fuck you, Benny. At least I have a date.”  
“Buuuurn!”  
   
Dean opens his Baby’s door for Aaron one last time for that night.  
They have been to the cinema, watched a not-that-bad movie about something Dean’s already forgotten, went out for dinner –Dean paid for both of them, as a good gentleman- and even bought him a rose –that was so cheesy that he himself almost threw up, but Aaron’s fond smile and blush was definitely worth it- and now he has driven him back at home.  
Dean walks Aaron at his house’s door, both of them in a comfortable silence. Then they’re at the door.  
“I really had fun tonight with you, Dean.” Aaron says, with a sheepish smile.  
“Yeah me too. We should do it again, sometimes.” Dean says, feeling confident. He knows when a date goes well, and that was one of his best date ever.  
Damn, he’s so screwed.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“Yeah, I’d like too.” Dean nods, staring at him for a few seconds, wondering what to do know. That’s the moment when he usually kisses the girl –should he kiss him? He wants to.  
Then Aaron takes the decision for him, leaning forward and gently brushing their lips together. Dean’s heart skips a beat, and it takes him a few seconds to catch up, but after that he gently takes Aaron’s waist and pulls him closer, cupping his jaw and deepening the kiss.  
His eyes flutter closed as he tastes Aaron’s mouth, sliding his tongue on his teeth. Aaron kisses him back, and suddenly they’re making out on Aaron’s porch, and Dean is so lost in it, it feels so good. Aaron’s lips are soft, and his hands on his shoulders are warm and bigger than a girl’s ones, but everything just feels _right,_ and suddenly Dean doesn’t have to pretend to be someone else, and can just get lost in Aaron’s mouth.  
They only break apart to breathe, and Aaron stares at him with an amused look and a grin on his lips.  
“School’s girls are right.”  
“About what?” Dean asks, tasting his flavor on his bottom lip.  
“Dean Winchester is a great kisser.” Aaron says, then takes his keys out of his pocket. Dean feels his chest being fulfilled by pride, and smirks.  
“What can I say? I’m just awesome.”  
“And cocky.” He replies, and Dean’s smirk grows wider.  
“Wanna go out again?”  
“Dean Winchester that asks for a second date, that’s new.” Dean just shrugs his shoulder, still grinning.  
“Wednesday after school?” Aaron nods, smiling.  
“Sure.”  
“Awesome.”  
“Yeah, awesome.” He echoes. Dean leans forward and presses his lips against Aaron’s one last time.  
“I’ll buy you another rose” he says. “See you Monday.” Aaron flushes, holding his flower a little tighter.  
“Bye, Dean.”  
“See yah.”  
He shouldn’t feel this good, but he can’t help but congrats at himself all the way back home in his Baby, Led Zeppelin singing out loud with him.  
   
“Bobby?”  
“What?”  
“I need a job.” The man looks up from the car he’s working on, sweat and oil on his face.  
“Why?”  
“What do you think? Money.”  
“Is everything okay at home?” he asks suspicious, and Dean just nods.  
“Sure.”  
“John is giving you kids no shit?”  
“We’re fine.” He mutters, looking away. Bobby is like a father to him, surely one hundred time better than his actual father.  
“Then why yah need a job?”  
“Just helping the family.” Bobby sighs, then nods.  
“Come after school. Work until six, then go home and do your homework. Free weekend.”  
“Thank you, Bobby.” He smiles, sincerely and with fondness. “We’ll be screwed without you.”  
“I hope you ain’t stealing anymore.”  
“Nah, I’m a respectable kid now. I even got a job.”  
“Idjit.” He mutters, but with a small smile. A smile that fades a few seconds later. “John hasn’t shown up for almost a week now, if he doesn’t get his shit together I’ll have to fire him.”  
“Can’t say that I’m surprised.”  
“Will ya tell him?”  
“Sure. When he comes home.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“I haven’t seen him for the last week. He went out for ‘a beer’ and never came back. He’s probably drunk somewhere.” Dean can barely contains the anger in his words, while he rolls his eyes.  
“You kids are alright?”  
“Yeah, we’re fine. I can take care of Sammy.”  
“I know ya can. Why don’t you kids come over for dinner? Ellen is making the broccoli casserole tonight.”  
“Sure thing, Bobby.”  
“I’ll see you at seven, then.”  
“Alright. Thank you Bobby, for everything.” Dean could swear that the man is blushing under his baseball hat.  
“Go do your homework, kid.” Dean smiles.  
   
Oxygen.  
Dean can’t breathe. He gasps, trying to push John away, his hands clenched around his neck. He feels the reality slipping through his fingers.  
“Dad.” He spits, jerking under the grip of his father. The corner of his eyes goes black. He’s going to pass out soon.  
He needs to breathe. Air, he needs air, there’s not air, there’s blood rushing at his head, pounding in his ears.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
His vision goes blurry, the world spinning around him, his body twitches. “Please…Dad-  
He coughs, closing his eyes. He knows that he has to stay awake, that if he passes out his Dad won’t stop, he won’t be able to defend himself. Not that he’s doing a great work anyway.  
 _There’s no air._  
He thinks he hears John chuckling but he’s not sure, everything is confused, messed up.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
And then the grip is gone. And suddenly there’s oxygen that fills his lungs. He almost chokes on the air itself, rolling on the side. He’s shacking, colorful dots dancing in front of his eyes. He looks up to his Dad, just in time to see the man’s fist straight to his face.  
Then everything goes black.  
   
Dean tries not to flinch when Sam gently presses the wet cloth on his face, attempting to clean the blood. He fails and immediately Sam retires his hand.  
“I’m sorry.” He whispers.  
“’m fine.”  
“What happened this time?” Dean rolls his eyes, and closes them. He’s so tired. He’s not sure it’s the kind of tiredness you can cast away sleeping. It feels deeper.  
“I don’t really remember.” He says honestly. Sam frowns.  
“Did you hit your head?”  
“Yeah probably.” He wouldn’t be surprised. He looks down. There’s blood on the floor. He will have to clean it up.  
“You should go to the hospital.”  
“You say it every time, but I’m fine.” Sammy doesn’t believe him, Dean knows it.  
“You say it every time but it’s never true.” His brother shoots back. Dean leans his head against the couch.  
“Is it that bad?”  
“You’ll have a black eye for a week or so, and…he- he left marks around your neck.” He rests his head on Dean’s chest and Dean turns to face him.  
“Sammy, you okay?”  
“Did he try to choke you?” Dean shivers, his whole body that freezes up. He looks away.  
“How bad are they? The marks.”  
“Pretty bad. It’s pretty evident, Dean.” he does his best to ignore the knot in the back of his throat,  and the heavy weight on his chest –he’s pretty good at ignoring his own feelings- and grins.  
“Guess I’ll wear a scarf for a while.” Sam sighs, Dean smiles at him. His broken lip burns in protest. “I’ll be fine, Sammy. I’m Batman.” Sam cracks a smile.  
“Yeah, you’re Batman.”  
   
It is hot. Fucking hot. Jesus.  
“Oh fuck.” Dean tugs and hand in Aaron’s short hair. Aaron who’s currently kneeled in front of him, with his cock in his mouth. He leans against the wall behind him, he feels like his knees are going to give up soon.  
Aaron’s tongue slides on the side of his dick and then the rhythm is just too intense, his head that bobs up and down, his cock that slams against the inside of his cheek. He parts his lips, trying to remember how to breathe, letting out a low growl.  
“Oh shit, Aaron.” He’s painfully hard, Aaron’s hands are warm on his hips. Then he slides one of them down to his testicles, massaging them while taking his cock in his hot, wet mouth again.  
Shit, it feels good. Too good.  
He looks down and meets his brown eyes full of lust, his dick that disappears inch after inch through his swollen lips. And Jesus, is just too much. Suddenly he’s coming in his mouth. And Aaron swallows everything down and Dean almost has a minor heart attack, because _fuck, that was hot._ He releases the grip on his hair, briefly running his fingers through it.  
Aaron stands up and Dean pulls him in a kiss, tasting himself on his lips. If he wouldn’t have just come he would be hard again. He looks down, realizing that Aaron jacked himself off while blowing him and he kisses him again, feeling a smile on the other boy’s lips.  
“I take it as you like it.” Aaron jokes.  
“I always love when you blow me.” He answers back with a smirk. “Next time I’ll return the favor.” They clean themselves up in the bathroom of Aaron’s room, and collapse on his bed. Immediately Aaron leans his head on his chest and Dean wraps an arm around his shoulder, absently petting his hair.  
“What happened to your neck?” he suddenly asks. Dean freezes.  
“Nothing.”  
“It doesn’t look like nothing.” Aaron brush his fingers on the darks marks around Dean’s neck. When the blonde boy looks down to his boyfriend he only sees concern in his eyes.  
He feels guilty. He hates lying to him, but there’s no way he can talk about his Dad. He can barely pronounce his name out loud with having a panic attack.  
“It’s nothing, just drop it.” it sound harsher than what he wanted and Aaron flinches. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, hugging him closer. He closes his eyes.  
He’s so tired.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“Are you okay?”  
“Never been better.”  
   
Dean is sixteen, Sam is twelve.  
For a while working at Bobby’s garage has been enough to pay all the bills. Apparently it’s not anymore. It seems that John sensed they had a little bit more money and decided to get down with booze. So they’re back at the start, without a single dollar and a lot of bills that are not going to magically vanish.  
Dean need something more lucrative, and he knows he will probably have to do something not _respectable._  
So here he is.  
In front of the _Hell’s Rose,_ a strip club where he’s about to ask for a job. This is not going to work out, he’s not even close to be old enough to work in a place like that.  
Though, he also knows that everything that goes on in that place it’s not exactly legal.  
 Dean shows the big guy outside the door his clearly fake ID but the guy just nods and lets him in. Yeah, not legal _at all._  
The inside smells like alcohol and smoke, the music is loud, and the lights are low, reddish, just enough to see where he’s going.  
He looks up to the stage where almost-naked dancers, both females and males, are following the music’s rhythm, rubbing themselves against each other, or on the pole, or just dancing.  
He reaches the bar, making his way through the tables. The place is _packed_.  
He knows what people say about this place. He knows people go here to find someone to fuck in one of the rooms in the basement downstairs  
He feels his head spinning, confused by the music and the pressing crowd.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“Aren’t you a bit young to be here, kid?” the bartender asks, a short girl with  curly black hair and a _short_ dress.  
“I, uh-” he has to scream to be heard over the music. “I’m looking for the manager.”  
“What happened?”  
“I need to speak with him, you know where is he?” the bartender grins, and then points him a man sitting at one of the table, his eyes locked on one of the dancer.  
“His name’s Cain, I don’t know why you wanna speak with him, kid, but be careful.” She licks her lips, eyeing him. “This is no place for children.” Dean thanks her, trying and failing to not blush and walks toward the man. He has long, gray hair, and he’s wearing a suit for some reason. He looks respectable.  
Although, he also runs a club known more for prostitution than good parties.  
“Mr. Cain?” Dean asks, trying to look confident. He doesn’t feel confident. He’s not comfortable in a place like this. The man looks up, and Dean feels a cold shiver running down to his spine when he meets his light blue eyes.  
“Who’s asking?”  
 _Focus, Dean._ He can pretend self-confidence, he’s good at it. He has a lot of practice.  
“I’m Dean Winchester, Sir. I’m looking for a job.” Cain raises and eyebrow, the angle of his mouth that quirks up.  
“A job?”  
“Yes, Sir.” Cain looks back to the stage in the middle of the club, then back at him. His gaze wanders over him, studying him. Dean wonders what he’s thinking. Has he already messed up? Why doesn’t he say anything?  
“Do you know how to dance?” it’s Dean’s turn to look up at the dancers. They all have muscular, lean bodies, and way not enough clothes on. They all look, well, _sexy._ Dean doubts he can dance like them, hypnotizing the audience with only his body, but he can try. He has to.  
“Sort of.” Well, _sometimes_ he dances in his room, when the house’s empty. Cain grins.  
“Lose the jacket.”  
“What?”  
“You heard me.” Yeah, Dean heard him, and he doesn’t like it, but he obliges. Under it he’s wearing a flannel and a black shirt. Maybe not the best outfit for a job interview, he realizes. “Lift the shirt.”  
 _“What?”_    
“Dean, right? You will have to dance half naked in front of this crowd, how do you want to do that if you have problems just _lifting_ your shirt?” Dean immediately blushes, realizing he’s right.  
This wasn’t a good idea.  
He lifts his shirt, exposing his abs and chest. He knows he’s attractive, the line of girls –and boys- at school is a clear proof, but this is different. He’s going to _sell_ his body for money. He wonders how far that is from actual prostitution. He hopes he will never have to cross the line.  
“Not bad.” Cain nods and Dean lower his shirt again. It’s slightly better. Cain stands, taking Dean’s chin with two fingers. Dean gulps. “You are pretty.” He says, and Dean feels like an object.  
Jesus, what is he doing?  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“How old are you Dean? _And_ don’t lie. I know you’re not old enough for this place.”  
“Well, your security kinda sucks, no offense.” Cain smirks.  
“How old?”  
“Sixteen.” He says. And _this_ is the moment when he is not hired. But Cain only nods.  
What the actual fuck.  
“What about your schedule?”  
“I- I’d prefer working during night, late.”  
“Any days you’re busy?”  
“Not really.”  
“A lot of free time, I see.” Dean just shrugs his shoulders. “Very good. I assume you want to talk about money, now?” Dean slowly nods. Everything seems going good. Too good. Dean doesn’t trust it.  
“Yes, Sir.”  
“Well Dean, it mostly depends on you. Usually my dancers make around 400-450 bucks, but there are good nights as well as bad nights.”  
“Wait- _450_ at _night?”_ Cain smirks.  
“Surprised?”  
“Well, yeah, I mean- it’s like fives times what I get at my other job.”  
“You have another job?”  
“Uhm, yeah.”  
“And still need to be a stripper?” Cain looks curious now. Dean shifts his weight from one leg to the other, running an hand through his hair.  
“I guess.”  
“Let me guess, difficult family?”  
“Maybe.”  
“Daddy issues?”  
“Do I have the job or not?” he asks, trying to hold back from rolling his eyes. Cain grins.  
“Come back tomorrow night. From 7 at nigh to 4 in the morning. Let’s see how you do it.”  
“Thank you. Do I have to, uhm, wear something specific?”  
“The shift starts at nine, I’ll have one of my boys explain everything to you before it starts. Just wear something comfortable for practice.”  
“Thank you, Sir.”  
“Now go home, kid. It’s pretty late.”  
   
The next day Dean leaves the garage at six and runs home to a quick shower. When he comes out he finds Sam sitting at the kitchen table eating some left-overs.  
“Did you get the job?” he asks. Dean smiles and nods, heating up a bowl of chicken soup for himself.  
“Yep.”  
“As bartender, right? I can’t believe they make you serve alcohol, you’re sixteen!” Dean winks at his little brother. He has about twenty minutes before he has to leave.  
“It’s because I’m awesome.”  
“Jerk.”  
“Bitch.” They both smile, sharing an amused look.  
“When are you starting?”  
“Uhh, I have some kind of test tonight. If I don’t mess up, I’ll get the job.”  
“So they _didn’t_ hire you.”  
“They are going to, smartass. I’m too awesome, as I said.”  
“So, when does the shift end?”  
“Four. In the morning.”  
“What the _fuck_ , Dean? You have school!”  
“I’ll be fine.” Sam just stares at him pretty shocked. Dean keeps eating in silent.  
“Let me get this straight” Sam starts. “You are going to school in the morning, run at Bobby’s, stay there until 6, come home for a shower, _maybe_ eating something and immediately going to this club, work until frigging four in the morning, which means you won’t be home before four thirty, if you’re lucky, sleep maybe two hours and repeat?!”  
It sounds pretty crazy.  
Let’s be honest: he’s going to die.  
Maybe he should just drop out of school. It’s not like he’s doing something good anyway.  
“It’s not that bad, I can do it.”  
“You can’t take that job. You are going to kill yourself! And what about me? I basically won’t see you ever again!” he bites his bottom lip. He didn’t think about that.  
“Let’s give it a shot, okay? Maybe I’ll fuck it up and they won’t even hire me.”  
“But what if they do? Let’s be honest, they will hire you, you _are_ pretty damn awesome.”  
“I wish I had recorded that.” Sam rolls his eyes.  
“Can you please stay serious for once, Dean?” Dean nods, standing up and then kneeling again in front of his little brother. He smiles, messing up his hair, looking straight into his eyes.  
“Look, _if_ they hire me, we will have much more money, okay? Even after I paid all the bills and Dad’s debts, we will still be plenty of money. I can buy you all the comics and videogames you want, and we can buy the tickets to go watch some concerts, and buy fancy food. And on the weekends I don’t have to work at the garage, and I can asks for a night free from the club, once a week or something, okay? We’ll figure it out.”  
“Are they really gonna pay you that much to serve alcohol?”  
“Apparently.”  
“It’s still crazy, Dean.”  
“I’ll be fine.”   
“What about school? When are you going to study?” he furrows his eyebrows.  
“I can do my homework before school, and I can study on bus to the club.”  
“This is not going to work. It’s not…it’s crazy.”  
“Let’s give it a shot, okay? One week.”  
“Can’t you just ask Bobby to pay you more?”  
“It won’t be enough anyway. At the club they are paying me five times what I get at Bobby’s.”  
“ _Holy crap_.”  
“Told you.”  
“I can get a job too.”  
“Sam, you’re eleven.”  
“So? I can do something.”  
“Yeah, poop in your diaper-  
“-Dean!”  
“-It’s fine, I got this. You need to focus on the school, and make some friends, and, you know, _have_ a life.”  
“But what about _your_ life? You have friends too, and the _school_.”  
“We can still see each other on the weekend, and at school. I’ll be fine, okay?”  
“But Dean-  
“Shut up, Sammy. I’ll be fine.” He presses his lips on Sammy’s forehead, standing up again. He takes both their bowls and leaves them in the sink. He’ll wash them later. He also have to clean the house, there’s dust everywhere.  
But for the moment, he’s late for his first day at his new job.  
He runs to his room and takes out all the books from his backpack and fills it with a bottle of water and a change of clothes. He enters in a pair of comfy sweatpants and an old dark-green shirt.  
“’night, Sammy!” he shouts, running out of the house, grabbing his keys and his jacket.  
He got this. He can do it.  
   
“Guys, this is Dean. He’d like to be a stripper, he’s gonna be in the night shift, treat him well and don’t scare him away.”  
“He’s pretty.” One of the guys says. Some girls chuckle, Dean blushes, standing awkwardly in his place.  
 _Oh God_.  
“Don’t worry you’ll be fine.” Cain says, grabbing his shoulder in reassuring way, sort of. “Ricky? Do you mind helping this kid out, showing him around, what to do, what _not_ to do?”  
“Sure thing, boss.”  
“Good luck, kid.”  
“Thanks.” Dean mutters, following this Ricky guy to what he supposes it’s the changing room.  
“You can leave your bag in one of the locker, here’s a padlock, so nobody steals anything, alright?”  
“Thanks.”  
“Let’s go.” Ricky next leads him to a room with a wall entirely covered by a giant mirror. The room is pretty large, there are some machines and sport equipment to exercise. There are even a couple of poles. Though, most of the people inside it, the same Dean has just been introduced to, are just dancing, practicing dance moves.  
“So, here’s where we’re going to stay for the next couple of hours, let’s see what you can do it.”  
   
The next two hours are all about how to propose himself on the stage, what do to, how to move, how to get the people’s attention.  
More than sexy, Dean learns he has to be _sensual,_ making people curious and, well, aroused.  
Turns out he’s not _that_ bad, for his first time. Ricky shows him some basic moves, and encourages him to try them until he got them almost perfectly. Dean learns quickly, he says.  
He also meets personally all of the other strippers, four girls and two boys, plus Ricky.  
They’re mostly nice, somewhat inappropriate with all of their sexual bad jokes and comments, but Dean finds himself smiling and chuckling, returning winks and grins.  
There are rules to follow.  
Clients aren’t allowed to touch him. He has to keep a nice body, which means he has to exercise almost every day. He has to be sober to work. He has to dance all the time he’s on the stage, though he has a break of about twenty minutes at midnight. He doesn’t have to strip completely, but he can keep on only his underwear –which turns out to be a thong.  
He’s not sure he can do it, to be honest.  
Then it’s show time. Ricky grabs his shoulder and smiles encouraging.   
“You’ll be fine. Just focus on the music and relax, alright? Remember to watch the clients in the eyes, especially the ones in the first rows. Remember that you _are_ sexy, that you _know_ what you’re doing, and keep moving. You’re perfectly safe, and _you_ are in charge, alright? You’ll be fine.”  
“Were you nervous the first time?”  
“Nervous?” he chuckles. “Hell, man, I was fucking shitting myself. It’s normal.”  
“Was it bad?”  
“I almost fell from the stage.” Dean smirks.  
“Really?”  
“Yeah. But for the rest it was fine, you know. You gotta remember to enjoy yourself, that’s when the clients are happy. Smile, but not an actual smile, more like...uh, a grin, I guess.”  
“Got it.”  
“How old are you?”  
“I’m, uh, sixteen?”  
“What? _What the fuck_ are you doing in a strip club?” Dean raises an eyebrow.  
“Stripping?”  
“Well, yeah, I mean, aren’t you a little bit young for this place?” Dean shrugs his shoulder, looking back at the tables.  
“This job pays well.”  
“It’s your turn, guys.” A woman behind them interrupts them, and Ricky just drops the conversation. He squeezes his shoulder once more time, and then Dean is on the stage.  
There a few seconds of pure panic when he has _no clue_ of what he’s supposed to do. He walks toward one of the pole and looks down at the clients of the first row.  
 _You can do this, Dean. Just focus on the music and relax._  
 _It’s like in the practice room_ , he says to himself, _just relax_.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
He closes his eyes for a second, and starts moving, repeating those same moves Ricky showed him before.  
He can do this.  
 _I got this._  
Than he’s dancing. And damn, he likes it.  
   
Dean’s not sure how he’s gone. He tripped on his own feet a couple of times, almost slipped on a ten, but he managed to stay up. He didn’t kill himself. Hell, he’s tired as fuck, and his muscles are burning, but from the smile on both Ricky and Cain’s face, he can tell he did pretty good.  
“Not bad, for a beginner.” Ricky says, squeezing his shoulder. “This kid has talent, Cain.”  
“I know. He just need some more practice and he’ll be even better than you.”  
“There’s nothing better than me, I’m the best.” Dean smiles.  
“Does it mean I get the job?” Cain stares at him for few more seconds, and then nods.  
“Yes, kid. You’re hired.” Dean feels his heart making a back hand-spring and smiles, shaking the hand Cain is holding out.  
“Come with me, we got a few details to discuss.”  
   
Dean arrives at home at five in the morning. It’s still dark outside, he wants to cry thinking that he has to be up in an hour to go to school.  
But he’s also fucking excited.  
He did it.  
He danced almost naked in front of all those people, and he did _great._ He’s surprised to realized he really enjoyed himself, to realize that he _liked_ those people’s eyes on him. He always kind of liked being at the center of the attention, but this was different. On that stage, nobody knows him, and he can be whatever he wants. He can be himself.  
And he was sexy, he _felt_ sexy, appreciated, wanted. He doesn’t feel like that very often.  
And he made also good money. He hasn’t counted them yet, but he’s sure he got more the two hundreds. Fuck, a couple more nights and he will be able to cover the whole water bill. It’s a miracle.  
He smiles to himself, slipping in the bed. The second his head touches the pillow, he’s asleep.  
   
Dean swallows back a moan when Aaron pushes the first finger covered in lube past his hole. Aaron smirks, like he knows that Dean’s trying to keep it quiet. Dean _is_ trying to be quiet, even though Aaron’s house is empty. Aaron kisses him slowly, gently pushing the finger all the way in.  
It’s not the first time, and Dean really doesn’t need him to be so gentle, but Aaron likes to take his time to stretch him open, and if he has to be honest, Dean likes how gentle and sweet his boyfriend is. It makes him feel safe.  
However, Dean can’t hold back a moan when Aaron starts to insert the second finger. He scissors him open, arching them, and Dean digs his fingernails on his shoulders, he needs to hold on to something, his dick hard as a rock.  
“Aaron, babe, hurry up.” He moans, and the other boy smirks, sucking a red mark on his collarbone.  
“Do you have somewhere to be?” he jokes. Dean already has a witty response on his tongue, but then Aaron starts fucking him with his goddamn fingers, and Dean forgets how to speak. “That’s what I thought.”  
“Fuck you.” Dean groans, rocking back on his fingers. He’s ready, he needs _more._ “Aaron-  
Aaron kisses him deeply, pushing his fingers even deeper. Dean whimpers in his mouth, squirming under his body. He’s hot, his dick painfully hard, and if Aaron doesn’t hurry the fuck up he’ll come on his fingers only. Maybe that’s what Aaron wants?  
But then _no_ , Aaron withdraws his fingers, and rolls the condom on his dick. Dean’s skin tingles with anticipation, and he spreads his legs even more, to make room for his boyfriend. They both moan when Aaron starts pushing in, until his thighs are pressed again Dean’s ass. He immediately wraps his legs around his hips, pulling him closer.  
“God, babe, feels so good.”  
“Jesus, Dean, you’re fucking thight-” and then he starts moving, picking up a quick pace, both of them close to the edge. Dean arches his back, pulling Aaron down for a sloppy kiss. He doesn’t mid though, not when he’s thrusting in him like his life depends on it.  
Aaron’s hands wander all over his body, pinching at his nipples because he knows Dean likes it. Dean’s hands scratch his back, leaving behind bright red marks, because he knows _Aaron_ likes it.  
Everything feels so good.  
Aaron slips a hand between them, and starts stroking Dean’s dick. It only takes a few strokes before he’s coming, hard and hot on both their stomachs. That seems to push Aaron over the edge too, because he comes too quickly after Dean, filling up the condom.  
For a second they stare at each other, panting and a little blissed out. Dean’s chest warms up under Aaron’s tender gaze.  
“I love you.” they both flinch when the words leave Aaron’s mouth. “Shit.” The boy stares at Dean with wide brown eyes, his lips parted. For a second Dean’s too surprised to answer, but when his mind starts working again, he can’t help but smile, pulling Aaron down for another kiss.  
“I love you too, dumbass.”  
   
Dean is nervous, well, actually he’s terrified.  
“You could crash at my place, Dean.” Benny says, an hand on his shoulder. Dean runs an hand through is messy blonde hair, pretending to be calm. Of course it doesn’t work, Benny knows him too well.  
“No, I have to face this sooner or later.”  
“I’ll find the little asshole who did it and I’ll beat the shit out of him.”  
“I’d appreciate that.” Dean mutters. He’d like very much to crash the bastard that called at home during the morning, telling Dad that his son is a fag.  
“Do you want me to come with you?”  
“Nah, I’m fine.” At least, he hopes so. But it doesn’t say out loud.  
“Look, if something happens, just call me, man. I’ll be here in five minutes.”  
“Don’t you have a date or something?”  
“This is more important.” This time Dean smiles.   
“Thanks, man.” Then he turns to the door of his house, taking a deep breath.  
“Where’s Sam?”  
“He won’t be home for a couple of hours, something at school.” he answers absently, looking for the key in his pockets. Benny nods, and squeezes his shoulder.  
“It’s gonna be fine.”  
“Yeah, yeah sure. See you later.” Benny hesitates another seconds, and then turns and go back in his pick-up, and leaves. Dean has to take another breath, before opening the door and entering his house. He leaves his backpack in the hallway, and finds his Dad on the couch, watching the tv. He immediately stands, and Dean can tell he’s _very_ drunk  
“You fucking bitch.”  
“Dad?”  
“What the fuck did you do?” he stumbles forward and Dean steps back.  
“Nothing. I-  
 “You _what?_ You fucking fag _!”_ Dean flinches, and he just wants to run away.  
“I’m _bi,_ Dad, and it’s ju-” Dean doesn’t get to end the phrase, because his father punches him, straight into the face. He moans, sliding off the couch, blinking in confusion. He looks up at his Dad, that now is standing between his legs, towering and imposing and definitely _not happy._  
“Dad?”  
“No one of my kids will be a fucking queer, I’m telling you, you son of a bitch.” Then he grabs the hem of his t-shirt, pulling him up to his knees, Dean’s hands now convulsively tightened around his wrist. “Tell me again what are you, Dean.” he swallows hard, and “ _I’m sorry, I’m not bi”_ already on his tongue, but then he stops, feeling the anger building in his chest. He _is_ bi. He _likes_ boys, as he much as he likes girl, and he can’t change that. He _doesn’t want_ to. He’s tired of his Dad’s shit, of him ruining his life like that. He doesn’t have the right. And honestly Dean is terrified, Jesus Christ, his father will probably kill him, but he’s also fucking angry. And without even realizing that he’s talking, those words are already slipped off of his tongue.  
“I’m bisexual, Dad. I like girls _and_ boys, fucking deal with it.” he growls, looking straight into his eyes. There are a few seconds of deadly silent, the tension is so thick that Dean can almost feel it suffocating him. He has an hard time remembering how to breathe, trying to calm himself down. The last thing he wants right now is a damn panic attack.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
Then John has slammed him down to the floor again, his head that hits the wood hardly.  
“You fucking _bastard!_ Is this how I fucking raised you, you faggot? I can’t fucking believe it!” and then there’s the pain where John has hit him again on his cheek, and Dean doesn’t know where he finds the strength to look up again, and speak.  
“ _Raised me?_ You didn’t fucking raised me, _I_ raised myself and you don’t ha-” this time is a kick in his stomach, and then another, and another. John grabs him by his hair, pulling him up again just to punch him in the face. Dean can’t hold back a moan, coughing. “You…you don’t have the _right_ to tell me what I can be and what I can’t be.” He swallows the blood he tastes in his mouth, and stares at him. He’s shaking, but he’s not sure if is because the anger or the fear.  
“I _can_ tell you what to be, because I’m your goddamn father.” He snarls, so close that Dean can smell the stink of sweat and cheap beer. “And you are fucking _wrong,_ Jesus Christ, how can you be a _queer_? What’s fucking wrong with you, you worthless piece of shit?!” Dean opens his mouth to say something, _anything,_ but it’s like his voice is gone, stuck in the back of his throat. Suddenly his back is down on the floor again, his father kneeled over him, his hands around his neck. He can’t breathe. Fuck, he _can’t breathe._  
“Dad.” He says in a shaky voice. “Please.” His vision goes blurry, while he gasps for oxygen, his whole body shaking.  
“I always knew you were damn worthless, I mean look at you. A _queer. You_ should have died in that fire, not your mother. God, she would _hate_ you, _I_ hate you.” and when he’s about to pass out his father releases the grip on his neck, and suddenly there’s air, and he rolls on his side, coughing, trying to breathe.  
“Dad.” He calls again, whispering this time, swallowing back the tears. “Fuck, I’m-  
“I wish you were dead.” He growls, cold voice. And then everything is confused, dizzy and blurry. There’s the pain all over his body where John beats the shit out of him, and those words that are now marked in his mind and make him want to puke. He tries to fight back, he really does, but he’s weak. And overwhelmed, and he feels like shit.  
And even when finally John stops, an indefinite amount of time later, he still lays down on the cold floor, now bloodstained, trying to hold himself together.  
It’s only when Sam comes home, that he realized he has been laying down for almost two hours. And Sam screams, but Dean doesn’t feel anything. He only feels empty, and drained, his mind blank. Eventually, Sam manages to make him sit on the couch again, and starts cleaning the blood from, well, _everywhere._  
Sam is talking, but Dean can’t catch a single word. He’s not sure his Dad has ever beaten him harder than that. That’s a new low even for him.  
It’s only when Sam screams his name, eyes full of tears, that Dean goes back to reality, and the pain hits him again. He moans, forcing himself to swallow back the tears once again. He doesn’t allow himself to cry, he can’t, because he knows that if he starts, then he won’t be able to stop. And he has to be strong, or he would fall apart.  
“Sam.” He whispers. His throat hurts. Maybe it’s because his Dad tried to choke him.  
“Dean?” Sam is whispering too. He wipes away his tears and leans over him. “Dean what the fuck happened?” Dean tries to smirk, he fails.  
“Apparently, being bisexual it’s worth a beaten up.”  
“Dad did this?” he just nods, closing his eyes, tired. He’s so tired. His body hurts. God, he’s so _broken._  
“I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m so sorry.”  
“It’s not your fault, Dean. You have done nothing wrong.” He says, running an hand through his hair. “You are _not_ wrong Dean.” he would smile, really, because Sammy is so mature for his age, but Dean can’t help but think that is _his_ fault if Sammy grew up so fast, he wanted to protect him and he failed. Again.  
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs again, leaning his head back on the couch. “Fuck.” He opens his eyes again, trying to focus over the pain that is killing him. “Summary of the damage?” Sam makes a face, cleaning his hands from Dean’s blood.  
“I think you should go to the hospital, Dean.”  
“Just answer me.”  
“He hurt you pretty bad this time, I mean, we are beyond the usual shit, here, Dean.”  
“I’ll be fine, just tell me.”  
“Fine.” He mutters. “I think you might have one or two broken ribs, and surely other four are cracked. Also, you possibly have a broken arm. Something is wrong with your damn shoulder and a fucking cerebral concussion wouldn’t surprise me because he almost _fucking killed you!”_ Sam almost screams the last words, his big, puppy eyes again full of tears while he stares at his big brother with a painful expression. Dean blinks, surprised.  
“Sammy?”  
“He could have killed you.” Sam says, wrenching voice. “I thought you were dead.” Dean lifts an arm, the one that supposedly is not broken and gently brushes his cheek.  
“I’m fine.”  
“You are covered in _blood_ , Dean.” he points out. Dean can’t help but find it somewhat funny, his brother is so _sassy._  
“Then I’m lucky we have the same blood type.” Sam stays in silence, and Dean noticed that he’s shaking too. “Hey, look at me. I’m _alive._ I’ll be fine.”  
“Please, go to the hospital.”  
“It’s not necessary.”  
“It is! And you should go to the fucking police too, and tell them what that bastard did to you.”  
“You know I can’t do that, Sammy. Look, man, it’s gonna be fine. I’m gonna be okay before you can even realize it.” honestly, Dean doesn’t believe in a single word  of what he’s saying, but apparently Sam does. His brother nods, playing with the hem of his shirt.  
“Go to the hospital, Dean. Please.” Unfortunately, Dean can’t say no to him.  
   
Dean finds himself in the hospital room wearing a white coat, still stoned by the painkillers. It takes him a minute to remember what happened and why he is in the hospital, but then he sees Sam curled in the armchair and asleep and his mind starts to work again, more or less. He sighs, looking down to his body. His arm is actually broken so the doctor had to immobilize it. Also, his whole chest is waddled, but even breathing is painful. He leans his hand back in the pillow, and stares at the ceiling for a while. The doctor patched him up, and Dean vaguely remembers him asking how he got all of that. Dean doesn’t really remember what was his answer, because at the time they had already given him morfine and his mind was so light he couldn’t focus.  
He _knew_ that going to the hospital was a bad idea, but does he ever listen to himself? Of course not. _What if I told the truth?_ He closes his eyes again, his head hurts.  
He wishes he could stop thinking.  
“Sammy?” he calls, and almost immediately his brother snaps awake. He almost trips on the blanket, rushing out of the armchair. He climbs on his bed, throwing his arms around his neck. Dean chuckles, hugging him back with the sane arm. “Hey, kiddo.”  
“How do you feel?”  
“Like crap.” Sam snorts a laugh, and Dean lifts an hand to ruffle his hair. “How are _you?”_  
“I’m fine. No one tried to rape and/or kidnap me when you were knocked out.”  
“That’s good.” Sam nods, rubbing his eyes. “When can I leave?”  
“Few days. They want to keep you under observation. And…the police want to speak with you.”  
“What? Why?” he glares at him. “What did you do?”  
“No, I didn’t do anything.”  
“What did _Dad_ do, then?” he snorts.  
“Haven’t seen him yet. Which is good for him, next time I’ll see him I’ll fucking kill him.” Dean freezes.  
“You _what?”_  
“He almost killed you, Dean. I just want to return the favor.” He growls.  
“No. You hear me, Sammy? You will _not_ fight with him.”  
“Why not? I know you can beat him, if you’d only try!”  
“That’s not the point, Sam.”  
“Why not? Aren’t you tired of him? Why do you let him treat you like shit? It’s not, _it’s not fair_.”  
“You won’t do anything stupid, I won’t let you to. _Capisce?”_  
“But Dean-  
“I’m serious, Sam. I don’t want you to put yourself in troubles because of him, or me. Got it?” Sam looks down, and Dean can tell he’s still angry and pissed, but Dean is deadly serious. He sighs, not one of the best awakening ever.  
“Brother!” both the Winchesters turn at the same time to face Benny that just entered the room.  
“Hey, Benny.” Dean says, smiling a bit. His best friend is carrying something that looks like a present, with the bow and everything. “What’s that?”  
“I felt guilty, brother.” He answered leaving the present near him.  
“For what?” Sam asks, suspicious.  
“It was…I should have stayed with you, Dean, I’m sorry.” Benny says, looking away from the youngest Winchester.  
“What the hell? You knew and didn’t do anything, what the fuck, man?” Sam shouts.  
“No, wait, Sammy. It’s not his fault, _I_ told him to go. It’s my fault.”  
“It’s _dad_ ’s fault.” Sam says, rolling his eyes. Dean nods, looking away.  
“Yeah.”  
 “Would you open it, brother? So I can stop feeling like shit.”  
“It’s not your fault.” Dean says again, ripping the colorful wrapping paper. Then he looks up at his friend, an astonished expression on his face. “I’ll fucking kill you.” Benny smirks, while Sam starts laughing. And Dean finds himself smiling too until all of them are laughing out loud. He has to stop when his chest starts to ache like a bitch. “Jesus Christ, Benny. A _rainbow dildo?_ What the _fuck_ , man.” He says, out of breath. “What am I even supposed to do with that?”  
“Do I really have to tell you?”  
“Please, don’t.” Sam interrupts, rolling his eyes.  
“Dean Winchester?” all of them turn again, Dean quickly putting the item back in his box, looking at the nurse on the threshold of the door.  
“Yeah?”  
“The police would like to speak with you.” Dean swallows hard, his eyes meeting Sam’s.  
“Alright.”  
   
“So, are you saying that some bullies did this to you, Mr. Winchester?” the officer asks once again. The man is pale, with brownish hair, and he clearly doesn’t believe him.  
“Yes.” He lies again, his stomach twisted. He’s lying to the _police._ Jesus, he’s so screwed.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
The man sighs, leaving his block notes on the bedside near his bed.  
“Look Dean, I know your brother called the ambulance, and I know they picked you up at home. Don’t you think is kinda odd that some bullies beat you up and then you walked home in your state? I find it particularly difficult to believe.” Dean swallows again, trying to keep the panic under control. He can’t let them know the truth, even though he wants it so bad. He can’t because they will take Sammy away from him, and put him in a foster family, and Dean can’t let that happen. He just can’t.  
“It’s what happened.”  
“You can tell me the truth, Dean.”  
“I am telling the truth.” Lying shouldn’t be so easy.  
 _You’re bad, Dean._  
“Are you sure you didn’t get this somewhere else, at home, for example?” Dean freezes, because _he knows._ He takes a deep breath.  
 _Tell him, tell him everything._  
 _You are such a disappointment, Dean._  
“I’m sure.” He almost whispers those words, that are heavy and _so_ wrong on his tongue. He’s going to throw up. The officer stares at him.  
“We can protect you, Dean. Both you and your brother.”  
“He’s fine.” He says, knowing that again is not true. Sam is not fine. He won’t be fine until Dad is around, but Dean can’t let them take him.  
 _You egoistic son a bitch. You don’t love him, you are doing this for yourself._  
Jesus.  
“Are you doing this for your brother? I know your mum died when he was just a baby.” He nods, this time he doesn’t have the strength to talk. “We can take him in a safe place, Dean. Nobody will hurt him again.”  
 _Tell him._  
 _You don’t want to let you Dad down once again, do you Dean?_  
He takes a deep breath, his hands are shaking in his lap.  
“We are perfectly fine, officer. It was just a bunch of idiots that exaggerated a bit, I’ve told you.” Eventually the officer leaves, even though Dean knows he doesn’t believe him. However, he can’t prove anything.  
Dean is alone again when the man leaves, his chest is heavy and he feels like shit.  
 _You worthless piece of shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> -Homophobia  
> -Grafic description of violence  
> -Child abuse  
> -Bad parenting  
> -Dean/Aaron


	9. Bite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I'm back, with an angsty/smutty chapter!   
> Please read the warnings at the end and be safe!  
> Song: Bite by Troye Sivan  
> (I love this song, I suggest y'all listen to it while reading this chapter, I think it fits nicely)

_You can coax the cold right out of me_  
 _Drape me in your warmth_  
 _The rapture in the dark puts me at ease_  
 _The blind eye of the storm_  
 _Let’s go for a walk down Easy Street_  
 _Where you can be reborn_  
 _And kiss me on the mouth and set me free_  
 _But please don’t bite_  
   
 _You close your eyes._  
 _Alastair takes your chin between two fingers, thumb sliding on your swollen lip._  
 _“You have such pretty lips, boy.” He whispers, his hand cups your cheek, and then he runs it through your sweaty hair. You’re panting._  
 _“Thank you, Sir.” Alastair grins._  
 _“I bet they would be wonderful around my cock.”  Your body shivers._  
Please, not again.  
 _“Yes, Sir.”_  
 _“Such a good slut, aren’t you?”_  
 _“Yes, Sir.”_  
Please, stop.  
 _Alastair slides the blade on your chest once again, blood running down on your wounded skin. You swallow back a moan._  
 _“You dirty whore. You’re born to be fucked. That’s the only thing you can do without screwing everything up, isn’t it?”_  
 _Talking is complicated. Pain and dark pleasure mixing up in your mind._  
Focus, Dean.  
 _“Yes, Sir.”_  
 _Alastair runs a hand on your chest, picking up some blood on his finger. And then he leans down, his finger tapping on your lip. Your mouth immediately falls open, you suck in his finger, tasting your own blood and swallowing it, forcing yourself to not throw up._  
Focus, Dean.  
 _“Give me your arm.” You lift your arm, knowing what will come next. It’s always like this. Always so wrong and painful. He cuts just above your wrist, an horizontal red line. He licks his lips, hungry eyes that scare you deep inside._  
 _You don’t even flinch when he start drinking your blood, like a vampire you think._  
 _You’re just so used to this._  
   
 _To Cas:_  
 _-Are you up?_  
It’s late. It’s like 1 a.m. and you’re sitting on your bed. You hope he’s up.  
Your hands are still slightly shaking after that nightmare. You’re cold, even under two blankets.  
You wait for a while, sliding your thumb on the screen of your phone to keep it on.  
 _-Yes, are you okay?_  
 _-Can I come over?_  
 _-Dean, are you okay?_  
 _-Yeah, I’m fine. Can’t sleep._  
You’re not sure why you texted him, instead of going to wake up Sam, or just going to find someone in a shitty bar –you know why, but you won’t admit it to anyone, not even yourself.  
 _-Yes, I’m not sleeping either._  
 _I’ll be there in fifteen._  
   
Cas lives in an apartment not far from the hotel, almost in the center of Manhattan. You ring the bell of the front door.  
“ _Yes?”_ ask the distorted voice of Castiel.  
“Cas? It’s me.”  
 _“Oh, yes, come in_ , _uhm, eleventh floor._ ”  
“Alright.” You take the elevator, burying your hands in your jacket. For some reasons you’re nervous. You almost change your mind once that you’re in the front of his door. Let’s be honest. This was a bad idea. What are you even doing?  
 _Go home, you jerk._  
“Hello Dean.” the door opens, and Cas appears, all messy black hair and blue eyes. He has paint under his eye, and on his chin. You hold back from reaching out and clean his skin.  
“Hey Cas.”  
“Come in, it’s freezing outside.”  
“It really is.” You say, entering in the house. It’s nice. You find yourself in a small kitchen, with the sink full of dirty dishes and the counter invaded by leftovers of take-away.  
“Sorry for the mess, I wasn’t expecting anybody.”  
“It’s okay.”  
You have never been at his house. It’s somewhat weird. Here, everything screams _Castiel._ The place even smells like him. It’s a nice scent.  
“So, why couldn’t you sleep?” you ask, turning around to face him. He smiles softly.  
“I was painting.”  
“At 1 in the morning?”  
“I don’t sleep much.” He answers, shrugging his shoulder.  
“Why not?”  
“Long story.” You’re curious, but you let it drop. Not your business. You two don’t talk about _stuff._ Sex, it’s just sex.  
 _It always is, isn’t it?_  
 _“_ Do you want something to drink?”  
“Do you have a beer?”  
“Sure.” He opens the fridge, which for what you can see is mostly more take-away and some basic food like milk and salad.  
“You only eat take-away.” It’s more an statement than a question.  
“I can’t cook at all.” He says, you smile, taking the beer he’s handing you, hands covered in paint.  
“Maybe later I’ll cook something.” You say absently, looking around. The walls are full of paintings. There’s something disturbing in them, they’re _twisted._ But you like them, because you’re twisted too. In particular, there’s one that drag your attention.  
There’s this man, his eyes are covered by a black line, but he looks scared, wrecked. He looks on the edge of the madness, with a broken smile. Behind him, _something,_ a black figure is whispering in his ear, its dark hands that cling on the naked body of the man, leaving behind dark-red wound.  
You notice that the figure, looks like a demon, is coming out from the man’s mind.  
The painting it’s so dark, the skin of the man pale, the only color is the dark red of his blood.  
“Do you know how to cook?” you turn, flinching.  
“What?”  
“Do you know how to cook?” you tear your eyes away from the painting.  
“Uh, yeah, kinda. I used to cook for Sam when we were growin’ up.”  
“You two are really close.” You can’t help but smile a bit, sipping your beer.  
“Yeah, you know. Dysfunctional family.”  
“What do you mean?” you’re close to throw up your whole life story. Speaking with Cas is so easy –it scares you how _much_ it’s easy.  
“This is not the night for sad stories.” You say instead, and Cas frowns a bit. “What were you painting?”  
“Oh, I…something for my gallery.”  
“You have your own gallery?”  
“Well, yeah. It’s, it’s actually the first time I attempt to do this, and I’m a bit nervous, if I have to be honest. My brother has been helping me with the inauguration.”  
“When is it?”  
“Next month.”  
“Text me the address and the details, later. Maybe I’ll make an appearance.” He smiles.  
“I’d appreciate that.”  
“No problem, man. Want to show me this painting?”  
“Uh, yes, of course. This way.” He leads you to an other room, passing by what you suppose it’s the bedroom.  
This room it’s bigger than the kitchen, and one side is entirely replaced by a giant window, from the floor to the ceiling, from side to side. The view is breath-taking. You can see the bright light of Times Square, far in the back, and all the light of the city that never sleeps, not completely.  
And the room it’s full of canvas. Both white and painted, accumulated on the floor or on the walls. You wander around, hesitating again on one particular painting.  
There’s again a man, his back more precisely. He has his hands in his hair, he looks like he’s screaming. Black hands are gripping at him, violently, possessively. This back looks familiar.  
“That’s you.” Cas whispers, answering your silent question.  
“Why did you paint me?”  
“Why wouldn’t I? You are objectively a beautiful man. I was inspired.”  
“Why did you paint me like that?” you look at him now, meeting his brilliant blue eyes.  
“Like what?” he asks with a small smirk, like he’s curious of what would be your answer. You look back at the painting, the blood running down on your skin, your body so accurate and perfect, those black hands.  
You look broken.  
 _Well, aren’t you?_  
“I look… well, scared.”  
“Are you scared, Dean?” he asks quietly. You shiver, a cold thrill that runs down on your spine.  
 _Are you scared, Dean?_  
You smirk, cocky and confident.  
“Nothing scares me, I’m a big boy.” You drink your beer, feeling Cas’ gaze all over your body. He knows you’re lying –Cas can always see through your bullshit. It’s scaring, sometimes. Other times it only makes you feel good and warm. You don’t want to think about it.  
“Is that what were you painting?” you ask next, changing topic. You walk toward an easel, where stands a canvas half painted.  
This one is an angel. With black, long wings, he’s trying to fly, but heavy chains hold him anchored down to the ground. He’s not wearing a shirt, the muscles of his back and arm tensed while he tries to fly away, even knowing that he can’t.  
The background is not done yet, as his body, which misses the legs and the ending part of one of the wings.  
“It’s beautiful.” You say, and it’s true. Cas is behind you now, his fingers brushing at your hips.  “I’ll let you work.”  
“Thank you, Dean. Please, make yourself at home.”  
“Thank you. I’ll go grab another beer, do you want one?”  
“No, I’m good, thanks.” You nod, going back to kitchen and taking another beer out of the fridge.  
You walk around the house for a few minutes, not knowing what to do with yourself. Then you find a library. It’s in the living room/Castiel’s studio and it’s full of books. Oh man, you like what you see.  
Cas has a bit of everything. There’s Edgar Allan Poe, Tolkien, Jake London, Hugo, Mark Twain, Jane Austen, Fitzgerald, Tolstoy, Orwell, Dickenson, and _yes,_ Vonnegut.  You pick Slaughterhouse-five, running your finger on the cover. This book looks like Cas has read it many times. Good.  
You go back on the couch in the living room, that stands behind Cas’ easel. You look up at him, he looks completely lost in what he’s doing, a brush behind his ear and another one in his hand. You take a few minutes to actually watch him with attention, now that you can, especially without him knowing it.  
He’s beautiful, his deep blue eyes so focused on the painting, those little wrinkles between his eyebrows, his plump, pink lips slightly parted. There’s grace in what he’s doing –there’s always grace in is movements, even when he slams you against a wall.  
You blink, looking down at your book. You turn on the small lamp that stands on a table near the couch and start reading.  
   
Almost two hours later neither of you has said a word, both of your lost in your activity. But it’s not an uncomfortable silence, it’s more the kind of silence you don’t need to fill with unnecessary words, that just makes you enjoy the other’s presence. It’s good. It’s different from what you could have during the day, with light and the responsibilities of a life that is not for you.  
Anyway.  
You stomach growls.  
You look up from the book, at Cas’ solid back. He hasn’t moved of an inch. He’s probably tired, and he should actually eat something that it’s not take-away.  
You close the book, blinking to adapt your eyes at the darkness of the room. You move to the kitchen, opening the fridge again.  
You give a closer look now, you mind that automatically wonders what you would be able to cook with what you have. An old habit from when you were young and Sam’s meal depended on your fantasy.  
Cas has something, not much, but you could come up with some breakfast. There’s bacon, eggs and milk. You could make pancake, bacon and scrambled eggs. Does Cas like pancakes? Maybe he’s more a waffles kind of guy?  
Pancakes will do. You take out the eggs, milk, and look around for flour and sugar and a cup.  
Soon enough the mix is ready, you add some chocolate chips you found near the flour and turn on the gas, buttering the pan. You sip your beer, waiting for the pancakes to cook, looking around at the paintings.  
Cas’ art is really twisted. It’s not the kind of art you would normally find in a museum, but you like it. Damn, you can’t tear away your eyes from the paintings. They’re dark, bloody, deviant and full of shadow.  
You put all the pancakes on a plate and melt other chocolate chips with some milk and then pour the chocolate on the pancakes. You cut a banana in slice and leave it on the top of your breakfast.  
When you go back, Cas is still there, of course.  
“I made breakfast.” Your voice sounds weird in the silence. “Cas? You hungry?” he turns, tilting is head in confusion. You smile. “Did you forget that I was here?”  
“No, I was just, uhm, lost, I guess.” He frowns, the smiles. “Did you make breakfast?”  
“I told you I can cook.” You sit on the floor, in front on the giant window. Honestly, looking down scares you a bit, you don’t like big heights, but the view is still stunning. Cas smiles wider, sitting in front of you, legs crossed, the pancakes between you two. He has new paint through his hair, some bright red, and some black on his nose.  
“Good, because I can barely cook an egg without burning down the house.” You chuckle, handing him a fork.  
“Mh, chocolate, I love chocolate.” He whispers, cutting a piece of one pancake and dipping it in the chocolate.  
“How did you survive until now?”  
“Takeaway, mostly.”  
“You’re gonna die soon.”  
“Well, then I’m lucky that you’re here.” He replies smoothly, with a small wink. You’re definitely not blushing, no way.  
“Sometimes Gabe and Balth come over for dinner, and they can cook, so.”  
“Balthazar? The guy you were with at the party?”  
“Yes, him. He’s one of my closest friend.”  
“Just friends?”  
“Jealous?” he asks smirking.  
“N-no, I was just sayin.”  
“We dated for a while. But we’re not compatible, not in that way. Balthazar is one of my oldest friend, and I love him, just not _that_ way.”  
 _Very good._ You don’t like that guy, it gives you weird vibes.  
“I see. What about your family?”  
“My parents never cared much about me.”  
“Uh, I’m sorry.”  
“It’s fine. I learned to not care either, so we’re good.”  
“Rough childhood.”  
“It wasn’t bad. I had Gabe, he basically raised me. I survived, and I turned out pretty good, didn’t I?” he smirks.  
“I guess you did.” You chuckle.  
“What about you?” you look up, mouth full of pancake and banana - _eh._  
“What about me?”  
“Yes, your family, significant others.” You swallow, trying to not choke.  
“There’s nothing much to say.”  
“There’s always something to say.”  
“Not really, as I said, dysfunctional family, a couple of ‘significant others’, didn’t end well. Dean Winchester is not made to stay in a relationship.”  
“That’s a lot, and yet nothing.” You shrug your shoulders, looking down. You hope he gets the hint, that’s line he can’t cross. Your whole life is a line he can’t cross in this whatever-you-two-are, not without taking it to the next level, and that’s not what you want – _it is_ what you want, but not what you deserve.    
“I suggest we get drunk and watch the sunrise.”  
“I didn’t know you could be so romantic, Dean.”  
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” You wink, pushing aside the empty dish.  
“I’ll get the alcohol.”  
“I’ll sit here and watch your ass.”  
“ _That’s_ the Dean I know.” He rolls his blue eyes, standing up and moving to the kitchen. You relax, crossing your legs and looking out of the window. The view is really magnificent. Cas’ apartment is high enough that you can see over a lot of other building, your gaze that moves free around the city. Then Cas is back, and the little smile and the content expression on his face is even more beautiful than the view – _wow, when did we turn into such a sap?_  
“What do we have?” you ask, shushing that voice in your head.  
“Vodka, rum, scotch and whiskey.”  
“Scotch, how classy.”  
“Then scotch. It was a present, actually, from my brother.”  
“He works for Sam, right?”  
“Yes.”  
“Those two are growing a little bit too closer.” You say, taking your class. Cas smirks.  
“Gabe is obnoxious as fuck, but he’s a good person. I didn’t know Sam was…bisexual?”  
“Pansexual, apparently, and yeah, two deviant brothers.” You whisper almost to yourself.  
“Who said that?”  
“No one important.” You answer quickly, trying to push Dad’s voice out of you head. Sometimes you only wish for your mind to _shut the fuck up._  
“Well, to what are we cheering?” Cas asks, lifting his glass. You grin.  
“Fuckbuddies?” he chuckles.  
“Fuckbuddies.”  
   
Hours later your head is in Cas’ lap, and he’s absently running an hand through your hair. You have an empty glass on your chest, Cas is still sipping from his. You both are looking outside of the window, in a comfortable silence. It’s so relaxing your eyes are slipping closed.  
“Are you tired?” he whispers.  
“Are you?”  
“I’m just a little drunk.”  
“I second that.”  
“I third it.”  
“Oh my God, Cas.” He chuckles, and you laugh too, leaning in his touch.  
“Why couldn’t you sleep?”  
“I had a nightmare.”  
“Was it that bad?”  
“It’s always that bad.”  
“Do you have nightmares often?” you grin, closing your eyes.  
“Yeah, you could say that.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“You just get used to them.”  
“And you never go back to sleep?”  
“Nah. Usually I go out, and hook up with someone. If it’s really bad I wake up Sammy, or call Benny.”  
“Who’s Benny?”  
“My best friend since high school.”  
“But tonight you called me?”  
“I wasn’t enough motivated to pick someone new.” He smirks.  
“Stand up.”  
“Why?”  
“I want to kiss you.” you obey, and immediately his lips are on yours, his hand behind your neck, the other on your hip while he pulls you closer, until you are basically sitting on his lap, your legs tightened around his waist.  
The kiss is slow, but passionate. Cas immediately takes the control, and you couldn’t ask for anything better. He slides his tongue on your teeth, sucking yours, then biting your bottom lip. His hands are warm on your hips, steady. You rub your ass on his crotch, and he moans.  
“I thought you were tired.” He mutters, sucking a piece of skin on your collarbone and leaving a fleshy red mark.  
“Now I want to fuck.” He smirks. The next second your back is on the floor, Cas is between your legs. You blink in confusion, sometimes you forget how strong Cas really is. Jesus, it turns you on so much.  
“Cas.” You call lowly on his lips. He moans in your mouth, sucking your tongue. You bury your hand in his hair, the other one that grip at his back, while you lift your hips to meet his.  
“Too many clothes.” He says in his low, grating voice, his hands that quickly free you from the sweatshirt and shirt under it. His mouth finds its way on your neck, biting and sucking. You think he’s enjoying this thing of leaving marks a little bit too much.  
You cross your ankles behind his back, thrusting against his hips, still too clothed.  
“Dean.” a thrill runs down your spin, your heart speeding in your chest.  
“Bed.” You reply, and immediately he stands up, pulling you up with him. You let him drag you to his room. Cas literally pushes you on the bed, immediately crawling between your spread legs. He bites down at your neck, tugging your shirt. The part of your mind that’s still working seems to get the point, and you lift your arms so Cas can take it off.  
Cas slides his hands over your chest, slowing down, taking his time to suck red marks on your neck and your collarbone. You throw back your head, inhaling sharply. You slip your hands between your bodies, reaching down to the waistband of his pants, and starts to pull them down. Cas helps you taking them off, and them immediately he resumes kissing your chest.  
He bites your nipple, pulling it between his teeth. Pleasure washes over you, and you arch in the bed, Cas’ hands ghost over your hips, and you hurry to take off both your pants and boxers. Cas huffs a laugh, but you immediately claim his mouth again, pulling him down. He drapes himself over you, until every inch of your skin is touching, you roll your hips upward, grinding on him. Jesus, you’re hard as a rock.  
But Cas doesn’t seem to care as he takes his sweet time to kiss every inch of your body he can reach, his fingers brushing all over you. He leaves a soft kiss on your thigh, then sucks a bright red mark right there, almost painfully.  
“Cas- Cas, need you, _right fucking now.”_ he chuckles again on your skin, but then stretches out to reach the bedside table and you shiver with anticipation when you see the bottle of lube. He pops it open, pouring a generous amount on his hands. Cas runs his wet fingers over your perineum, you bury your hands in his dark hair, pulling him down for another kiss.  
You suck his lips, kiss the dark stubble on his strong jaw, biting down at his neck when he starts pushing in the first finger. His breath falters when you suck another mark. When you finally looks at the hickeys a weird, warm feeling fills your chest  
“Cas.”  
 _My Cas._  
“Dean.” he whispers back, and your whole body shakes. His damn voice will be your ruin.  
“Jesus Christ, say it again.” He grins.  
“Dean.” he says again, louder, more confident, right in your ear. Cas captures the lobe between his teeth and pulls gently, right when he inserts the second finger. You close your eyes, moaning. It burns just a bit, the pain is just enough to make everything hotter. You immediately rock back on his fingers.  
“More, Cas, need more.” You scratch his back with your fingernail, sliding your hands down to cup his ass still covered by the underwear. Cas scissors his fingers, stretching you open, and quickly adding the third finger. He doesn’t give you much time to adjust before he starts finger-fucking you, fast and dirty, crooking his fingers to hit your sweet spot just right.  
When he hits your prostate you have to bite your hand to not scream, he smirks, leaving more dark hickeys on your collarbone, biting your clavicle. You reach down with your hand, wrapping it around your aching cock, but immediately Cas slaps it away. He grabs both your wrists with his free hand and pins them down above your head.  
“Cas- Cas, I’m ready, _fuck,_ Cas-  
“Ask nicely.” He says, your dick is painfully hard right now.  
“Fuck y-” the rest of the sentence dies in your mouth when he thrusts so deep with his fingers that your whole body shifts upward in the bed.  
“Jesus _fuck,_ Cas, _please_ get your fucking cock inside my ass, _fuck.”_  
“Not the best, but it’ll work.” There a few seconds in which Cas finally removes his boxers, giving you a good sight of him slicking himself up. He spreads your legs wider and lifts your ass up, and slams inside with a single deep thrust. You definitely scream this time, gasping for air. You close your eyes, your body shaking.  
 _“Holy shit,_  Cas.” he doesn’t answer, his lips pressed against your forehead as he starts thrusting in, deep and raw, so hard the whole bed slams against the wall. Cas lets go your hands and you immediately wrap them around his shoulder, the urge of pulling him _closer._  
“Look at me, Dean.” your eyes flutter open, and they’re met with an ocean of blue and lust. As soon as your eyes meet, Cas slows down. You whimper, the intensity of his gaze is almost unbearable. He digs his nail into your hips, clearly holding back.  
He fucks you nice and slowly, taking his time, and you feel the orgasm building in your body. He kisses you, taking advantage of your already parted lips to slip his tongue in your mouth. It’s messy and sloppy, but it’s perfect –it’s almost scary the way your mouths seem to fit so perfectly. Like a fucking puzzle.  
You barely realize that a river of words is leaving your mouth, the pressure is too much, it’s too hot, your mind is so light and empty. There’s only space for _Cas._  
When he wraps his hand around your cock it’s like breaking a dam. He barely has to touch you before you’re coming, splashing all over his hand and both on yours and his chest. That seems to push Cas over the edge as well, and soon you feel his cum filling up your ass, leaking between your thigs.  
There are a few seconds in which neither of you say anything, your forehead pressed together, your hands at each side of his face, sweat cooling on your skin. Cas looks at you like you’re the most beautiful and important person in the whole goddamn world, all big blown eyes and pink swollen lips.  
And then the spell is broken, Cas gets up, smiles at you.  
“Let’s get you cleaned.”  
   
“Dean?”  
“Mhm?” you moan, your face pressed against the pillow.  
“Are you sleeping?”  
“Yes.” You can feel his smile, even though you can’t see him. His hand is warm on your hip, where he’s tracing invisible circles. It’s quite, and makes you aware of his presence, that you’re not alone. You like it. “What?”  
“How did you get those scars?” you freeze, all your muscles contract. Cas stops tracing circles on your skin. You don’t answer, not immediately. You let minutes pass, focusing on Cas’ breath on your neck. You close your eyes again, trying to relax. You can’t. “My apologies, I understand if you don’t want to talk about them.”  
“It’s alright. Just…bad memories.”  
“Is that what you dreamt about?” you nod, opening your eyes again. The circles on your hip start again. You lean in his touch, feeling your body relaxing again.  
“Sleep, Cas. It’s late.”  
“I don’t sleep much, I told you.”  
“You haven’t slept at all.” He sighs.  
“I’ll fall asleep, eventually. Later.” You nod, your eyes slipping close once again. You might actually be able to fall asleep again before it’s time to go back to the hotel. The sun hasn’t risen yet.  
But no, Cas isn’t done with the speaking yet.  
“I think you’re scared, Dean.” you turn in his arms, facing him, now.  
“Scared of what?” you mumble, not even bothering to open your eyes. You’re so tired.  
“Caring too much.” You grin, feeling like you’re finally falling asleep. At least a minute or two have passed.  
“Maybe I am.”  
“Why?”  
“Why are you asking?”  
“I’m just trying to understand you, Dean.”  
“Why?”  
“You’re an extremely interesting human being, Dean.”  
“Are you going to say that I’m special and that you have never met anyone like me?”  
“Well no, but I can, if you want me to.”  
“I want you to shut up and sleep.” Silence for a few seconds. You beg he’s done. He’s not.  
“My apologies, Dean. I didn’t mean to upset you.” you sigh.  
“I’m not upset, Cas. I’m tired.” He nods, more silence. You take a deep breath. “If you care too much, you always get hurt.”  
“It doesn’t have to be like that.”  
“It is in real life, Cas.”  
“Good things do happen, Dean.”  
“Not in my experience.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“For what?”  
“That so many people let you down.”  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
It shouldn’t hurt this bad. You hide your face in his chest. In the darkness, when you can’t see his eyes, when you don’t have to look at him, when it doesn’t matter if your mask slips off of your face, it’s easier pretending that you’re okay.  
“What you want _does_ matter, Dean. _You_ matter.”  
You can’t hear this now, not with his fingers brushing over your skin, his lips pressed on your forehead. You can’t.  
“Go to sleep, Cas.” more silence, then he sighs, nodding. He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly. You let him do it, resting your head on his chest. For a night you can trick yourself in thinking that this is something more, that maybe Cas is right about you, that you’re more than just a warm body to be used once in a while. Just for one night. “’Night, Cas.”  
“Goodnight, Dean.”  
 _Just one night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this, please leave a comment or a kudos, your opinion is always appreciated!  
> Warnings:  
> -Nightmare (grafic description of dubcon, abuse, and blood play)  
> -Brief mention of child abuse


	10. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!Sorry, I'm late again, but my wi-fi is literally not working, I'm going to cry.   
> Anyway, I hope you all will like this chapter, we're already halfway through this story, I can't believe it!  
> Please read the warnings as the end.  
> Song: Stay by Zedd & Alessia Cara

_Won’t admit what I already know_

_I’ve never been the best at letting go_

_I don’t wanna spend the night alone_

_Guess I need you_

 

_There’s blood. There’s a lot of blood._

_It’s running down of your skin, falling on the floor in perfect circles._

_You can’t breathe, why can’t you breathe?_

_There are hands. A lot a hands. They’re cold, and everywhere. They touch you everywhere, every inch of your wounded skin._

_You don’t want them to touch you, you want them to stop._

_There are knifes, cold blades that cut deep in your skin, leaving scars behind._

_You want to move away from them, why can’t you move?_

_You try to open your eyes, but there’s too much light, everything is foggy, you can’t focus on anything. There are shapes, blurry and dark. There are voice, muffled and far._

_There’s pain._

_So much pain, every part of your body is burning, screaming for relief. You know it’s not going to end soon._

_“Fucking whore.”_

 

You bite your bottom lip, shifting uncomfortably on the chair.

“Dean, you okay, man?” Sam asks. You nod. Cas smirks. The bastard.

“Awesome.”

“Your face is kinda red, sure you don’t wanna go home?”

“I’m fine, it’s just hot in here, isn’t it?” Sam looks around, confused, and you know it’s not hot. He just nods slowly.

“Sure, here, drink.” He says, putting a glass of cold water in front of you. This is not going to work.

“What about something stronger?” Gabriel quickly nods.

“Dean-o’s right.” He says lifting an hand and ordering beer for everyone when the waiter approaches them. A few seconds later you take the bottle and lift it, ready to drown all of your problems in the alcohol, when you have to stop to let out a low moan, the now stronger vibrations that makes your whole body shiver.

_Goddammit, Cas. Not while I drink._

You shoot him a glare, his hand placed on your thigh, your cock that twitches when the plug you have up your ass vibrates quicker, stronger.

You lost the count of the levels around 4, and Cas’ fingers, slowly caressing your inner thigh are not helping you. You hold back a moan, closing your eyes for a few seconds.

_Focus, Dean._

You knew this wasn’t a good idea, but your ideas are never good. Cas should have stopped you, but that asshole is more than enjoying your suffering. _The bastard_.

If he keeps going this way you’ll come in your pants. _That_ can’t happen.

Then the level raises again. You cough, pretending that you _definitely_ didn’t moan. Sam stares at you in confusion, while Gabriel at his side – _again,_ why are this two so close?- raises his eyebrows, and then a smirk appears on his lips. He understood.

You glance at Cas, finding that he’s already watching you –he _always_ watches you. His gaze is fixed on your lips.

_We can play this game in two._

You slowly slide your tongue on your lower lip, sucking it between your teeth, letting out another small moan, so quite that you’re sure only Cas heard it. His eyes darken, and you grin.

It probably wasn’t the best of your ideas, though. This is the second time you think this tonight –why are you still even listening to yourself?

The plug vibrates faster, and you flinch, your eyes flutter closed. You only want to rip the clothes off of him, and lick every inch of skin. Even better, you want him to fuck you senseless until you pass out. It’s not much to ask for.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice reaches your ears, somehow, tearing you out of your thoughts.

“W-what?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Sam I’m fine.” You shift again, and the plug slides even deeper up your ass, vibrating straight against your prostrate. You shivers, pressing your palms on the table. Let’s be honest, how are you supposed to survive to the evening with that thing that’s driving you crazy?

Near you Cas huffs a laugh. _Son of a bitch_.

“Dean?” he asks, and Jesus Christ, his deep, and way lower than the normal voice would be enough to make you come right now, but you have a dignity –somewhere, let’s pretend- and you _won’t_ come in your pants. You’re Dean Winchester, men and women’s wet dream, not an horny teenager with bounced hormones, god _damn_ it.

Your intentions waver when a rush of pleasure runs through your body, the plug that rubs undaunted against your sensitive spot. Holy Mother of God. This is not going to end well.

Then you grab your phone from your pocket.

_To Cas:_

_-Are you trying to kill me?_

Less than two seconds later Cas’s phone buzzes on the table. He takes it, unblocks it and smirks when he reads your text. You lift your eyes to Sam and Gabriel again, your brother that shoots you a curious look. You smirk, taking a sip of your beer. Everything’s perfectly under control.

_-Aren’t you having fun, Dean?_

_-Not really, no._

_-We still have to order the dessert._

_-This better be worth it._

_-I promise I’ll fuck you so hard and so good that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow._ You close your eyes, trying to recompose yourself.

_-Are you doing this on purpose?_

_-Maybe._

_-Arrogant bastard._

Another level. It catches you unprepared, and you almost drop the phone. You arch your back, pressing the free hand on the table and swallowing back a moan.

“Cas.”you whisper, hoarse voice.

_-Behave yourself Dean_.

_-Or what?_ Writing is pretty complicated, your hands are slightly shaking.

_-I’ll be forced to punish you, Dean._ You swallow hard. 

_-What would you do to me?_

 He sighs near you and you lift your eyes, meeting his dark gaze.

“Cas.” It falls from your lips before you can think of it, so low you’re not even sure he heard it -he did.

“Let’s go.” He says, confident, standing so fast that he almost flips the chair. And seriously, the situation would be funny if it wasn’t for your aching dick.

“Are you guys leaving?” Sam asks, suspicious. You nod.

“Cas here is tired, I’m gonna give him a ride. You two have fun.” Then somehow you manage to shoot a glare at Gabriel. “Not _too much_ fun.” You warn, before Cas pulls you away and out of the restaurant.

The second you reach your Baby, Cas pushes you against it, your elbow that hits the door. He kisses you, and you moan in his already open mouth, his tongue claims yours. He licks your lips, biting the bottom one and then sucking into his mouth.

“You’re driving me crazy.” He whispers, his hands that possessively grip your hips, so strong he might leave marks, you hope he does.

“I’m such a bad boy, _Sir.”_ You slide your tongue on his earlobe, sucking it slowly. Cas pushes you back again, cupping you ass and squeezing. You gasp, throwing back your head. Cas smirks, sucking at your neck and leaving a flashy red mark. He spreads wide your ass cheeks, his fingers pressed against the plug. Your whole body tenses under his touch, your cock painfully hard. “Jesus, Cas.” You swallow. “In the car park? How classy.” You have just the time to pronounce those words that he leaves you. You shiver. Now that he’s not pressed against you, the cold wind make you shake –it’s always cold when Cas is not touching you.

“Get in the car.” He orders, and you quickly oblige, opening the door and sliding in the backseat of the Impala.

This is familiar. You have lost count of how many times you have had sex in this exact spot. It’ kinda gross if you think of it too much. You don’t have time to overthink it anyway, because immediately Cas is over you, his gorgeous body draped over your own when he leans down to kiss you again. 

You tug his hair, the nails of other hands that slowly stroke his back, leaving behind red lines. Cas lifts is own hand, three fingers tap your lips. Your mouth falls open, and you suck them in, meeting his glassy eyes. You make sure to moan around them, sucking and making them nice and wet.

“Fuck, Dean.” he whispers.

“I’d rather having you fucking me, Ca- _fuck_!” The last word dies on your tongue when Cas takes out the vibrator in one fast movement, with an obscene _plop,_ the lube that strains between your cheeks. He thrust inside two fingers, and you moan, your hand that moves around looking for something to grip.

You find Castiel’s other hand.

Your dick is painfully hard.

He spreads your legs even more, your left foot that gets stuck behind the seat.

“Jesus, Cas.” You moan, while Cas adds the third fingers too, stretching you wide and open. And then he hits your overstimulate prostrate, and, Christ, you bite your own hand to hold back a scream.

“You like this? Me doing what I want with you?”

“Yes, _yes,_ Cas, please.”

“Well, aren’t you a little slut, Dean?” he presses his  lips on your stomach. You would love them a little bit lower.

_My little slut, Dean, always eager for cocks._

_Focus, Dean._

You rock back on Cas’ fingers, biting your lip.

“Oh my God, Cas, _fuck me.”_

“I’m not sure you deserve it.” he says, slowly stroking your hard cock. Jesus, this was a _really_ bad idea. “You have been such a bad boy.”

“I dare you to stay calm with ah _–oh shit, yes right there-_ ah, a vib- vibrator in your ass for the, mhmm, for the whole fucking night – _fuck yes,_ Cas!” he chuckles, his fingers barely touching you cock.

You’re gonna die. Definitely. Naked and fucked by a purple vibrator in the back seat of your own car. What an holy ending.

And then Cas is lowering his pants, rubbing his erection on your fucked hole, and your body shivers, pleasure washes over your body.

“ _Don’t fucking move_.” He growls, grabbing your thighs. “Lift your hips.” You obey, his hands that help you staying in positions. And then he thrusts in you, deep and hard, a loud groan that leaves your mouth.

“ _Fuck yes,_ Cas, yes, like this.” He immediately sets a rough pace, his cock that hits your prostrate every time. “Faster, Cas, faster, please, _fuck.”_ And he obliges, his nails that sink in your hips leaving moon-like marks, the obscene sound of his heavy balls that slam against your ass.

And you can _feel_ the orgasm building up, too hot, too intense, just _too much,_ and then you’re coming, screaming Cas’ name, your body arches in Cast’ steady hands. He curses under his breath, and then fills you with a growl, still balls-deep buried in your body.

He withdraws, and you ass falls on the seat now that his hands are not holding you up anymore. He leans down to kiss the top of your soft dick, which makes a valiant effort to twitch up again, and then he kisses his way up on your body to your mouth. You kiss back without even realizing, still blissed out by the orgasm.

He’s staring at you, his hand cupped on your cheek.

“Hey Cas.” He smiles softly.

“Hello, Dean.”

“I think that you will have to drive.”

“Your ass doesn’t feel good?”

“Just don’t hurt my Baby.”

“You care more about this car than me, probably.” That’s a trap. You smirk.

“Just drive.”

 

_“What are you, Dean?” you can barely speak, barely move. You are totally drained out of energy. It hurts, it hurts so bad. Alastair’s eyes are cold, his grin scary, his cane painful. “Answer me when I ask you something.” He hits you on your ass already beaten, the marks that hurts, the skin that burns._

Focus, Dean.

_“Your slut!” you scream. You swallow back the tears. You don’t cry, not in front of him. “I’m your little slut, Sir.”_

_His hand is cold on your red skin. Blood runs between your thighs._

_“Good whore.”_

 

Your eyes flutter open, you sit up, a scream stuck in the back of your throat.

Alastair loves making you scream until you can’t talk anymore. 

_Focus, Dean._

You look around, the panic that threatens to suffocate you. You can’t breathe. You don’t know this place. It’s not the first time you wake up in some weird place after a session with Alastair and his friends. It’s not the first time you have no idea how did you get there. It’s not the first time you don’t remember what happened the night before.

_Shit, shit, shit._

You’re going to have a panic attack.  You’re whole body shakes in the urge to run away, your mind that stops you from doing that because you know that Alastair would only be pissed.

_You’re my little slut, Dean._ _._

“Dean?” Cas’ sleepy voice somehow reaches you. You flinch, turning to see him.

_Focus, Dean._

_This is not the basement. You’re not with Alastair._

It was just a bad dream. The reality hits you in the face like a truck. It was just a bad dream. _It’s over. You’re with Cas. Cas is safe._

“Dean, are you okay?” he’s more awake now, while he slowly sits up. You mechanically nod, trying to hold yourself together.

_Focus, Dean._

“’M fine.” You mutter.

“Bad dream?”

“I said I’m fine.” You repeat, louder, sharper. Guilt immediately washes over you, it’s not his fault. It’s yours.

He runs his finger on your back, taking your hand.

You close your eyes, flinching. A part of your brain waits for the pain that surely will follow the gentle touches, for the shame and the harsh words. But there’s nothing. Only kind, fond touches.

It’s almost worse.

“You’re shaking.”

Cas touches you like you’re something precious, like he’s afraid of breaking you. You’re not used to this.

_You don’t deserve this._

“I need to go home.” You whisper, running away from his touch.

“Dean-” but you are already standing up, legs shaking and panic that oppresses you. You try to locate your clothes in the dark of the room ,and it’s an hard task. You think you found your shirt when you feel Cas’ hand on your shoulder.

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Why are you leaving?” and it’s good that you can’t see his eyes, because you wouldn’t be able to bear his gaze.

“Look, Cas, I don’t do this.”

“ _This?”_

“Sleeping over. After sex. _Cuddling._  Damn, I usually only sleep once with the same person.”

“Dean, you need to calm down.”

“I’m- I’m perfectly fine, I just need to go.”

“No, no you don’t.” and then he’s kissing you, his hands on your hips. He pulls you closer. You drop your shirt to bury a hand in his hair, and _this_ feels good. You can handle kissing. You know what to do with this. You lick his lips, and he immediately opens his mouth, your tongue slides inside. Cas’ mouth is warm, and wet, and familiar but always new at the same time, and you will never get tired of his so particular flavor, something that it’s only _Cas._ “Please don’t leave.” _Stay._

You chuckle nervously. You’re not sure why he wants you to say.

“Getting sappy, Cas?” he doesn’t answer, the tension is thick. You need to breathe, kissing Cas is like breathing. “Okay.” It’s all Cas needs to take your hand and guide you back on his bed. He covers you both with the blanket, and his arm falls naturally around your waist, you back pressed against his chest.

Everything is so natural with Cas- it scares you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he murmurs in your hair, his thumb circling on your hip.

“No.”

“You can talk with me, Dean.”

“I don’t need to talk.” He shuts up. You feel guilty. You should leave. Cas pulls you closer.

“Goodnight, Dean.” you don’t answer, you don’t even fall asleep again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hope you liked this chapter,please leave a kudos or a comment!  
> Warnings:  
> -Nightmares (graphic description of violence, abuse)  
> -Homophobic language  
> -Dean has trust issues and a low self-esteem (like, SO low)


	11. Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, what's up?  
> I'm back again with another chapter, personally this is one of my favorite.   
> Please read the Warnings and the end.  
> Song: Sorry by Halsey

_So I'm sorry to my unknown lover_  
 _Sorry that I can't believe that anybody ever really  
Starts to fall in love with me_  
   
 _I run away when things are good_  
 _And never really understood  
The way you laid your eyes on me  
In ways that no one ever could_  
   
”How’s it even possible that you’re not drunk yet? That’s like, your eight glass!” Sam stares at you between disappointment and wonder. You smirk, holding up your glass of champagne.  
“I’m amazing.”  
“Yeah, sure. Put it down, this is not the evening to drink that much.”  
“Oh, c’mon Sammy, loosen up a bit.”  
“I’m serious, this is important.” You raise an eyebrow, motioning to the giant restaurant of the hotel that have been redecorated for this evening.  
“What is _this_ anyway?” Sam just sighs, hiding his eyes behind his hand. He looks like the human version of the Desperation. “What?”  
“I don’t know how many times I told you, Dean.”  
“I know you love me.” He rolls his eyes.  
“ _This_ is a charity event.”  
“For what?”  
“For homeless people.” You look around. The tables have been pushed against the wall, so the center of the hall could be converted in a dance floor. There are a lot of people, wearing expensive-looking dresses and suits.  
You nod, your eyes on Sam again. He sighs dramatically.  
“Please, don’t mess up.” He says.  
“Who do you think you’re talking to? Trust me.” he shakes his head, you chuckle.  
“Don’t worry, Sammy, I won’t ruin this thing.”  
“Don’t get drunk.”   
“Can’t promise that.”  
“Oh Dean, c’mon, don’t- look I gotta go, don’t do anything stupid.” He says, looking over your shoulder. You turn to see what’s getting all your brother’s attention and find there Gabriel Novak, that’s waving at Sam with a cocky smile on his face. And Sam almost runs toward the man, gently pushing you aside. Three seconds later they walk away, so close that their shoulders are bumping to each other. You shiver.  
 _Ew, gross._  
You empty your glass, trying to forget the disgusting thought that just popped up in your mind. You walk toward the bar again, and sit on one of the stool.  
“Hey Dean.”  
“Hey, kiddo.” Charlie smiles, cleaning the counter with a cloth. “What’s up?”  
“Literally nothing, just a bunch of creepy old men that want to get in my panties and their angry wives.”  
“Gross.” You laugh, Charlie serves you a glass of something definitely stronger than the champagne. “What’s this?”  
“Try it.”  
“I’m not gonna drink it if you don’t tell me what is it.” you stare at her, with your best bitch face, still not even comparable to Sam’s. The guys has a gift.  
“C’mon Dean, don’t be a pussy. I’m experimenting.”  
“And I’m your guinea pig?”  
“Yeah, basically. Do it.”  
“Bossy.”  
“You haven’t seen me in bed, then.” You sighs, studying the liquid in the glass. It’s a weird green that doesn’t really inspires you, but this is clearly a challenge, and Dean Winchester is not a pussy. You close your eyes and drink it.  
It’s basically all alcohol with some other flavors you can’t really identify because your throat and stomach are burning.  
“Holy crap!” you slam the glass on the counter, lifting your eyes to Charlie, who’s now grinning satisfied. “What the hell was that?”  
“Secret recipe.” She says crossing her arms on her chest. “I’ll add it to the menu.”  
“You’re going to kill me.” She smiles, moving her red hair on her back.  
“So.” She starts, bending toward you. “How’s your boyfriend? Cas-something? Gabriel Novak’s brother?”  
“How do you even know about him?”  
“Oh I met him last month when he came to pick up his brother, or something like that.”  
“He’s not my boyfriend. And his name’s Castiel.”  
“Oh, don’t tell me. Fuckbuddies?”  
“Well, yeah, I guess. Give me some whiskey.” She obliges and then keeps grinning at you. “What?”  
“Aren’t you a bit old for this?”  
“I’m thirty!”  
“Old man.”  
“I’d like to remember you that I’m still your boss, kiddo. Have some respect.”  
“Oh shut up, you can’t fire me.”  
“Why not?”  
“I’m your best friend! And let’s be honest, what would you do without me?”  
“I’d hire another bartender.”  
“You won’t find anything better than this.” She motions to her whole body, winking. You sighs.  
“Shut your mouth.”  
“You didn’t answer my question though. How’s going with Castiel?”  
“Oh man, best sex of my life. Seriously, the guy is like a freaking sex god, and he does this thing with his tongue that-  
“ _Okay!_ Enough, I got it. I don’t need you to scar my brain with that.” You smirk, sipping your whiskey, smiling at yourself. “Other than sex?” you almost mention the night you spent together in his apartment. He texted you the address for his exhibition the very next morning.  
“Nah. It’s literally just sex. Go in, get off, go home.”  
“Yeah but, aren’t you scared that he might be a psychopath or into some weird shit?” Charlie gives you an eloquent look. Your smile fades. You drink.  
“Please, be more explicit, I don’t think I got it.” you mutter, glancing at her.  
“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to, you know, help?”  
“Yeah, whatever.”  
“I’m sorry, Dean.” she pours you another glass of whiskey. “This one is on the house.”  
“ _I’m_ the house.” You protest, she rolls her eyes.  
“Shut up and drink, I’m trying to apologize.”  
“Getting me drunk?”  
“Oh my God, Dean, shut up.”  
“Fine.” You grin, and she smiles back.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
   
This thing is starting to be boring. You take out the phone from your pocket for the billion time, still no messages or calls. Then, who’s even supposed to call you?  
You keep walking around the room, checking out the guests. There’s a pretty girl in a way too short dress that keeps staring at you. You don’t even know why you haven’t spoken to her yet, using your _charm_ to take her in your room.  
Instead you keep checking your phone.  
 _What’s wrong with you Winchester?_  
You move toward the buffet. You and shrimps scamoi share an intense moment before you grab a plate and fill it with that. You go sit at one of the table, smiling at the lady that sitting on the opposite side.  
You take out your phone again and open the contacts list. You scroll past it until you find the right contact and quickly send a message.  
 _To Cas:_  
 _-What’s up?_  
Your finger hesitates over the _Send_ bottom, not sure if press it or not.  
 _What are you doing?_  
 _I’m sending a text to my…fuckbuddy._  
 _Why?_  
 _Because I want to fuck._  
 _Of course, not because you miss him, pff._  
 _Shut the fuck up._  
You wait for Cas’ answer eating your pasta in silence. You feel oddly nervous, and you don’t understand why, because it’s not like you’re a 12-years-old girl who just texted her crush, god damn it. _Get your shit together, Winchester_.  
Then your phone vibrates and you just drop the fork, that almost falls on the floor, and read the text you just received.  
 _From Cas:_  
 _-I’m fine, Dean, thank you. How are you?_  
You wait like a minute before answering, just to don’t look too desperate. God, you’re pathetic.  
 _-Bored. Horny._  
 _-What are you doing?_  
 _-Charity event at the Hotel. Wanna come over? Could use some fun._  
Definitely a pathetic 12-years-old who’s _also_ super horny. Beautiful.  
 _-I can be there in fifteen minutes if you want. Wait for me in your room._  
 _-Bossy. I like it._  
 _-And Dean?_  
 _-Yeah?_  
 _-I want you already prep._ You choke, and you can almost hear his low voice whispering those words in your ear. You shiver in anticipation.  
 _-Yes, Sir._  
   
You throw away your jacket and your shirt, finally freeing yourself from that suit. You turn down the lights, leaving on only a couple of them in the back of the room, creating just the right atmosphere. You take out the lube from the closet, and sit on the bed. You are already unblocking the belt when your phone, still in your pocket, vibrates again.  
It must be Cas again, maybe with some other orders. You hope he has some other orders.  
You open the newt text only to realize that you don’t have the number saved.  
Then you read the text and the world starts spinning.  
 _-Did you miss me, boy? A._  
This can’t be.  
There must be a logic explanation for this.  
 _This can’t be possible. It’s not possible._  
Your hands immediately start shaking, your stomach twists. You feel sick. Jesus, you’re going to throw up.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
You stare at the screen for an eternity, or maybe only few seconds, you’re not sure, your heart pounding in your chest.  
Your fingers are typing before you can even realize it.  
 _-Alastair?_  
You wait, and the time seems to stretch out. The room is spinning around you so fast you feel like in a tornado. _Please no._  
 _-Did you miss me, boy?_  
Then you’re throwing up in the sink of your bathroom, the phone abandoned on floor near the bed, your body shaking uncontrollably.  
   
You grin at yourself, running a hand through your hair one last time. You stare at the door in front of you one more second, thinking of Dean on the bed behind it, legs sprawled and already open. A thrill runs down your spine.  
You open the door.  
“Dean.” the name slips out of your mouth before you can’t even think of it. “Dean?”  
He’s not on the bed. That’s disappointing. You raise an eyebrow, looking at the phone that Dean must have dropped near the bed, at the lube on the sheets. You pick up the phone, looking around in confusion.  
“Castiel?” you turn to the bathroom, and _there_ is Dean.  
Something’s wrong.  
He’s sitting on the floor, legs close to his chest and arms wrapped around them. He’s shirtless, and his eyes are glassy. He’s visibly shaking, Jesus he’s shaking so bad.  
Your first thought is that he’s high. He might be, he doesn’t look himself. But then he flinches when you lay a hand on his shoulder, moving away from you, and you think that maybe he’s dropping.  
“Dean? What’s happening? Are you okay?” he shakes his head, opening his mouth to say something but the only thing that comes out is a chocked groan. “Dean? Look at me.” Instead he lowers his head. “Jesus, Dean, are you dropping?”  
He chuckles, almost hysterically, and then he looks up and you can see his eyes, pupils dilated and watery.  
“Panic attack.” He whispers. You nod, taking his face in your hand. Okay, panic attack. What do you do when you have a panic attack?  
 _Think, Castiel, think._ You have had thousands of panic attacks, you _know_ what to do.  
“Okay, Dean, look at me, okay? _Focus_ on me, only me.” He nods, shaking under your fingers. “You have to breathe slower, Dean. Do it with me, okay? In- and out, yes, again. Good, again, so good, baby.” He grabs your wrists, holding on to your like he’s afraid of falling. He might feel like he’s falling. You pull him closer, until your lips are almost touching.   
“C-Cas, I’m, shit, I’m so sorry, I’m-  
“Sh, sh, Dean. It’s okay, I’m right here. Just keep breathing, okay?” He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours.  
“I can’t, Cas, _I can’t breathe.”_ His voice breaks. Your heart skips a beat. You run a hand through his sweaty hair, the other cupped on his cheeks.  
“Hey, Dean, I got you, _I got you_ , okay? You’re okay, it’s going to be okay, just keep breathing. Can you do it for me, Dean?” and then your eyes drop on his shoulders, on the scars on his skin, that look more evident than ever. It’s your turn to shiver, because maybe he’s not dropping. Maybe there’s _more._ “Dean? Hey baby, look at me, okay? Dean?” he opens his eyes again, he looks so scared right now. This is the Dean you painted on your canvas.  
This is the Dean that’s broken.  
“Dean, it’s okay, you’re okay, Dean. You’re _safe._ I’ll protect you, I won’t let anyone hurt you, you heard me? I got you, Dean, I won’t let you go.”  
 And, _fuck,_ the words feel heavy on your tongue, and your stomach twists, because you mean what you said, you mean every word. It’s almost painful how much you mean them, how much you want him to be okay, to _protect_ him.  
He nods, slightly, releasing a shaking sigh.  
“Cas.” And then your arms are around him, your chest pressed against his bare skin. You keep stroking his hair, caressing his back. A river of words keeps slipping off of your mouth, barely audible, and you don’t even know what you’re saying, it doesn’t matter. Dean hides his head in your neck, his breath is warm on your skin.  
You don’t know how long you stay in that position, maybe it’s a minute, maybe it’s an hour, but eventually Dean stops shaking, his breathing slows down. You don’t move, though. You keep holding him close, keep whispering in his ear.  
“Cas?” you back off of few inches, just the space necessary to look him in the eyes.  
“Dean? Are you okay?” he swallows hard, and the nods, his skin covered by a thin layer of sweat. You nod back. “Let’s get to the bed, okay?” he nods again and lets you help him standing up. You guide him back in his room, and make him sit on the bed, never breaking the contact.  
He stares down at your hands interlaced.  
“Dean?” you call after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. “Are you okay?”  
“Do you have my phone?”  
“Your- yeah, I have it.” you find it in your pocket, you don’t even remember putting it in there. You hand it to him, and he takes it with shaking hands. “What happened?” he doesn’t answer, staring blankly at the phone.  
Your eyes wander on his chest, on the light scars on his golden skin, knowing that are all over his back too.  
“Dean, what triggered the panic attack?”  
   
 _Focus, Dean._  
“What triggered the panic attack?” Cas’ voice echoes in your mind.  
You knew this moment would come eventually. But _this_ is too early. It’s been only two years, this can’t be.  
 _Did you miss me, boy?_  
You look up, meeting Cas’ so-impossibly-blue eyes. His hand is still on yours, like he’s afraid that if he leaves you you’ll break down again. Maybe he’s right.  
“Dean?”  
“I’m okay.” You say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m- yeah, sorry about that.”  
“What happened? What triggered it?”  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“It doesn’t matter. I’m fine, now.” you smirk, clenching your fists. Your hands are still shaking. _Focus, Dean. Get your shit together._  
“You don’t have to lie, Dean.”  
“I’m not lying.”  
“Yes, you are.”  
“Jesus, Cas, leave me fucking alone.” You blurt out. “It’s not any of your goddamn business.” He flinches. And then he lets go of your hand, clenching his jaw. Immediately you miss his touch, a float of regrets inundates you.  
You realized that _he_ stopped you panic attack. He talked you out of it, and what he said, _the way_ he said it, echoes in your mind once again.  
He helped you without hesitating, and you treat him like shit.  
 _Jesus_.  
But you can’t talk about it. Not with Cas.  
“How can I help you?” you stare at him for a solid minute, trying to process the question.  
“Why would you want to help me?” you can’t stop yourself from asking. “I treated you like shit, I don’t des- I don’t understand.”  
 _I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you._  
“Dean, whatever just happened- it’s perfectly understandable that you are upset.”  
“I still don’t get it.”  
“I _care_ about you, Dean. I want you to be okay.” he bites his bottom lips, like he said too much.  
Maybe he did.  
“I want to help you. Please, let me help you.”  
 _You don’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve someone fucked up like you._  
“I don’t need your fucking help, _Castiel,_ I need you to leave me alone.” Breaking apart from him is almost painful. You stand up, taking a deep breath. “Leave.”  
You do your best to avoid his eyes, terrified of what you might find in them.  
“Dean-  
“ _Please,_ Cas. I can’t do this.” There’s silence for a few seconds, then he nods. He stands up in front of you, lifting a hand. He doesn’t touch you, though your body is craving for that contact.  
“You don’t have to do all by yourself, Dean. Not all is your responsibility.”  
“Cas.” Your voice is low, dangerous. You’re about to break, and you don’t want him to see it. He nods, his arm falls on his side.  
“Goodbye, Dean.”  
And God. This is wrong.  
 _Don’t let him go._  
But then it’s too late, and Cas has left, silently closing the door behind himself.  
You look down at the phone. There’s a new text.  
 _-Don’t think I forgot my boy._  
   
“Dean! What the fuck happened here?” Sam is standing on the threshold of your room. The room you destroyed a while ago. The bedside table is flipped, the pillows from your couch and bed are ripped, the chairs on the floor. There are pieces of glass everywhere, from the lamp and the mirror you threw against the wall. There are books and papers on the floor too.  
You look up.  
“Hey, Sammy, how was the party?” you have no idea what time is it. You’re sitting on the floor, an empty bottle of whiskey near you, another one in your hand, a cigarette in the other.  
“Are you smoking again, now?”  
“Shut the fuck up.”  
“Dean, what happened?” you extinguish the cigarette on the ashtray near you.  
“I’m screwed, Sammy. I’m so screwed.”  
“Dean what are you talking about?” he’s worried now. You can tell it, even with the alcohol to numb your mind.  
 _Focus, Dean._ You hand him your phone. He takes it, with a skeptical expression. He stares at it shocked.  
“Dean.”  
“He’s back, Sammy. He’s out of jail. And- and, he’s coming, he’s coming for me.” He kneels in front of you and takes the bottle from your hand.  
“It’s not possible, Dean. He can’t be out. It’s too early.”  
“I know, I checked. I think I did, I’m not sure. I, there was a break out. He escaped. He’s out.”  
“Okay, Dean, look at me.” You lift your eyes. “We’ll do something, okay? I won’t let him take you again.” You smirk, and then drink more of the whiskey.  
“You know nothing can stop Alastair from getting what he wants.” You press your lips together. “And he wants me now. He wants revenge.”  
Sam stares at you in silence for a few seconds.  
“I won’t let it happen again.” You nod. You stand up, leaning against the wall when the world starts spinning. “Where are you going?”  
“I need some air.” You whisper staggering your way toward the door.  
“Dean-” but you’re out, slamming the door behind your back.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
   
You lean against the door of your apartment. You evaluate calling Gabriel, but you’re not sure what you want to tell him.  
What you know is that there’s something wrong with Dean, something seriously wrong, and not knowing _what_ is killing you. Not being able to help him is killing you.  
You move in your studio, staring at your last painting. You sit on the floor in front of it. You almost finished it. It’s the one where Dean’s an angel, his dark wings tensed as he try to break free from whatever is pulling him down. He looks so pained.  
Dean looked terrified, before, in his room.  
 _Panic attack._  
Dean has panic attacks. He didn’t tell you what triggered it, but you’re pretty sure it’s something about his scars.  
You will have to do something for those wings, you don’t like the way the feathers look.  
Thinking about Dean’s panic attack makes you think about _yours._  
Then you stand up, mostly because your ass started hurting.  
You also resolve to call Gabe. Maybe he’ll cheer you up or something. You doubt it. He picks up at the fifth ring.  
“Cassie? You okay?” he sounds sleepy. You realize that it’s like 2 a.m. and normal people usually sleep at night.  
“Yes, I’m fine. Well, sort of. I don’t- I’m not sure.”  
“What happened?” he definitely sounds more awake now.  
“I don’t know.” you say sincerely. “Well I’m not sure anyway.”  
“Are you okay?”  
“Yes, I’m fine.”  
“What is it then?”  
“I can’t stop thinking.”  
“About what?”  
“The usual.”  
“I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”  
“Gabriel, it’s really not necessary, I-  
“Shut up and take out a couple of beers. And make some coffee.”  
“But-  
“It’s alright Cassie, I’ll be there soon.” You don’t even try to hold back a smile.  
“Thank you, Gabe.”  
“No problem, Cassie.”  
   
About fifteen minutes later you open the door and let a messy Gabe in. He’s wearing a bright red t-shirt and apple green sweatpants, his blonde hair messy. He’s obnoxious as usual.  
“Cassie! It’s been so long!” your brother hugs you, stepping in your apartment. You kick the door to close it and hug him back, chuckling.  
“Gabe, we had lunch together yesterday.”  
“That’s the joke. Sweet mother of God, you really _are_ a desperate case.”  
“At least I’m not brighter than a flashlight.”  
 “C’mon you can do better than that.”  
“Christmas lights?”  
“Slightly better. It’ll work.” Gabe moves in the living room and falls on the couch –the same one where Dean was sitting last time. “So, beers?” you hand him one of the beer you took before, and keep the other one for you, sitting near him. “How are you, Cassie?” he asks, glancing at you.  
It really sounds like a totally innocent question, but you know there’s more. You also know you could lie, and normally you would, but this is Gabriel. And Gabriel knows you better than anyone else in the world, beside maybe Balthazar.  
“I can’t stop thinking.”  
“What happened?”  
“Dean had a panic attack.”  
“Dean Winchester? Are you two together or something? And why I didn’t know anything about that?”  
“We are- we are _not_ together. Not, uhm, not in _that_ way, not really. It’s just sex. But that’s not the point. He had a panic attack, and I, I found him. We were supposed to meet, but when I arrived I found him in his bathroom, on the floor.” You bite your bottom lip, unsure of what to say. You’re not even sure if you should talk about this. Maybe Dean doesn’t want anybody to know, he definitely  doesn’t. “And, well, I talked him out of it, sort of. But when I asked what triggered it, he shouted at me. He told me to leave.”  
“What did you do?”  
“Well, I left. He didn’t want me there. So I left.”  
“Cassie, it’s not your fault, you know that right?”  
“No, yes, I guess. I don’t know. It’s just- Dean has scars. A lot, all over his back and chest. Gabe, they’re so many. I’m sure something bad happened to him, but he won’t tell me what, he won’t tell anybody, because he’s too proud to admit that he needs help.”  
You look down, at the bottle in your lap. You take a big sip, washing your mouth with the beer. It’s pretty bad, you don’t really like it.  
“And when I arrived here I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and then eventually I started thinking about _my_ own panic attacks, and now I’m just, just, I don’t even know.” You look up at the painting in front of you. You sigh.  
“You know, Cassie, maybe Dean is not the only one who needs help.”  
Well that’s definitely something you didn’t expected.  
“What?”  
“Yeah. I mean, what happened to you, and me for what that matters, it’s some pretty bad shit. Maybe you need some…specialist help.”  
“You mean, a psychiatrist?”  
“Yeah, possibly.”  
“I don’t, Gabe. I’m fine. I’m just, it’s just a moment. It will pass.” Gabe stares at you intensely.  
“You know it’s not ‘just a moment’.”  
“I called you to cheer me up, not depressing me even more.” Gabe tries to smirk, but it looks fake even to you.  
“I’m serious. You will have to deal with it. You’re thirty-four, Cas. You can’t keep going on like this.”  
“I’m fine, Gabe, really.”  
“Cassie, you barely sleep five hours in two days, and have nightmares every time. It doesn’t sound _okay_ to me.”  
“Well, what about you, Gabriel? It’s not like you are better than me.”  
“I’m not saying that.”  
“You hide your true feelings with jokes and occasional sex, a _lot_ of occasional sex. You won’t talk about it as much as me, and you _refuse_ to get emotionally attached to someone because you are scared to be hurt again. And I understand it, Gabriel, I really do, but please don’t tell me that I need therapy when you’d need it as much as I do. And we both know you won’t go.”  
Gabriel stares at you for a few long minutes, the silence is uncomfortable and there’s this sticky tension between you two that is driving you crazy, because it’s not natural. It’s not what you’re used to and you don’t like it.  
“I’m sorry.” He says in the end, looking straight into your eyes. “You’re right.”  
You nod slightly.  
“I’m sorry too, I was…that wasn’t nice of me.”  
“True, but you were right, of course.” More silence, Gabe drinks most of his beer in one sip. “I have nightmares about it too, you know?” he whispers looking down. “Especially when I sleep alone. That’s probably why I sleep around so much.”  
“What do you dream about?”  
“Mostly what Father did. Sometimes Michael. Often someone dies. Often it’s me. Sometimes it’s you.” he stops, glancing up at you for a second. “Those are the worst.” He whispers. You nod, because you totally understand what he’s talking about. This are the same things your nightmares are about too.  
“Well, aren’t we fucking fucked up?” he asks, big grin on his face. You smile back, chuckling.  
“To fuck-ups.” You say, lifting your beer.  
“Cheers.” He answers, finishing his beer.  
   
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment or a kudos to let me know what you think!   
> Warnings:  
> -Panic attack  
> -Mention of abuse  
> -Dean's head is in a bad space


	12. Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys, I'm back once again!  
> So, this is another chapter on Dean's past, please read the Warnings at the end, there's some heavy shit going down here.  
> Beside that, please enjoy!  
> Song: Perfect by Simple Plan

_Hey, Dad, look at me_  
_Think back, and talk to me_  
_Did I grow up according to plan?_  
_And do you think I'm wasting my time_  
_Doing things I want to do?_  
_But it hurts when you disapproved all along_  
_And now I try hard to make it_  
_I just want to make you proud_  
_I'm never gonna be good enough for you_  
   
Dean is getting used to this. He’s getting better. Turned out he’s a dancer. Ricky even started showing him stuff on the pole. He’s young, attractive. Clients like him, both men and women. And he likes the attention, the satisfaction, _the money._  
He’s oven okay with doing some private dances. That’s kind of weird, when he has to stare into someone’s eyes while he grinds down on them. If he’s in a good mood, he’ll even get a boner, people are happier when he comes. Dean guesses it’s because it makes them feel like they’re some sex-god or shit like that. Truth is that Dean only needs to think about Aaron naked on top of him to get hard.  
Tonight the crew did a piece in which they were pretending to be firemen, and Dean is busy trying to get all the cash out of his red thong.  
“That was amazing!” Meg says, patting him on the shoulder. Dean winks at her.  
“I’m always amazing.”  
“Listen to the kid, getting all cocky and confident.”  
“What can I say?” Dean asks, shoving the last bill inside his locker. “The ladies love me.”  
“And the gentlemen too.” Ricky chuckles.  
“Alright people, I got the list for the privates for tonight. Meg, you got a couple of guys from a bachelor party. Lilith you got the actual bachelor and the girl from table 5. Dean you got a couple of ladies, and a guy. Simon, a couple of girls. That’s it.” Dean nods, closing his locker.  
He can’t wait to be done with this so he can go home. Fridays are always exhausting, partly because it’s the end of the week, and partly because there are always more people on the weekends. The good thing is that he gets better tips, even though he has more privates.  
Thanks God tomorrow he doesn’t have to go to school so he can sleep in. He really needs to get more than four hours of sleep.  
Thanks to his new job, Dean was able to cut the hours at Bobby’s, and only have to work at the club three or four nights per week. Which means he’s getting more sleep than what he planned and still have enough money to pay for anything Sammy needs. Which is great.  
He even bought a little necklace for Aaron a couple of days ago. Yeah, he’s getting his life together.  
Dean runs a hand through his hair, and yawns, moving to the private rooms.  
The two ladies are apparently friends, and they keep giggling and shoving money inside his thong. Dean’s okay with that. He keeps dancing, putting on a show for the girls. He’s having fun, he always has when his clients enjoy themselves.  
Dean smirks, waving at the second girl while she leaves the room. He leaves too to get a bottle of water. _Gotta stay hydrated._ When he comes back Uriel, the bodyguard, stops him.  
“What’s up, man?”  
“The guy in there, I don’t like him.”  
“Uriel, you don’t like _anybody._ ”   
“True, but that guy gives me the creep. I don’t know kid, there’s something I can’t put my fingers on.”  
“I’ll be okay, Uriel. It’s just a lap dance. I’ll be done in half an hour.”  
“Just… if he does something call me.”  
“Of course.” Dean winks at him, and then finally enters the room. The guy is sitting on the chair, and Dean gets what Uriel was trying to say. The guy is in his thirties, wearing a gray suit, but there’s something about his ice-blue eyes that Dean doesn’t really like. A lot of people look at him with lust and want, but this guy is literally staring at him like he’s just a piece of meat. And Dean doesn’t like it.  
Dean smiles at him anyway, putting on some music from his playlist.  
“What can I do for you tonight?” he asks lowly, moving closer. He leans a hand on the guy’s shoulder, sitting on his lap.  
“Entertain me.” Dean grins, grinding down on the guy’s crotch. He leans forward, until his lips are touching the man’s ear.  
“I can do that.” The hands of the man twitch on the armrest. Dean grins, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds to catch the bit of the song. It’s one of his favorite, it’s not too fast, and Dean starts sliding down his own hands on his chest covered in glitters.  
It doesn’t take long before Dean can feel the man’s boner through his thin thong.  
“Look at me.” The man orders, and Dean finally meets his eyes, licking his pink lips. In the man’s eyes there’s _hunger_ and it sends a cold thrill down Dean’s spine. He really doesn’t like this guy.  
“Good boy.” The praise makes Dean smirk, and he presses down, his ass rubbing against the man’s boner. Dean pretends that it’s Aaron under him, that the hands sliding on his chest are Aaron’s. He can feel his teeth scraping at his neck, at his nipples. It feels good.  
He just keeps going for a while, imaging Aaron instead of the creepy guy, then the man thrusts up, and Dean is pulled out of his fantasies. He looks down at the man, as he thrusts again against his ass. Dean mentally rolls his eyes, and lets out a fake moan, hoping it sounds real. The man seems to buy it.  
And so the guy keeps thrusting up, and Dean has to hold on to the back of the chair to not lose balance, he throws back his head, wishing Aaron was with him. Dean can tell the man is getting closer to the edge when he lets out a small moan too.  
He just keeps going, song after song, and finally the man is coming. Dean can feel the cum wetting the man’s pant, getting sticky under his ass. It would be okay, if it wasn’t that the man grabbed Dean’s hips in doing so, and held him down while he kept thrusting up.  
Deans gasps, unsure of what to do. He’s supposed to call Uriel if the client touches him, but the man is also done. It was probably just an accident in the heat of the moment. The guy hasn’t touched him at all.  
When the guy’s done, his fingers linger a little longer than necessary on his bared hips, and then let go. Dean immediately gets off the man, forcing a smile.  
“Was that what you wanted?” the man grins too, and Dean doesn’t like it. It looks evil.  
“Perfect.”  
“Nice. We made it just in time.” Dean glances at the clock on the wall, the guy booked for half hour, and they made in like twenty-seven minutes.  
“Very good. I think we’ll see each other again…what’s your name?”  
“Jensen.”  
“Jensen.” The man repeats. “Mine’s Alastair Sharp.”  
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Sharp.” You smirk, not missing the hungry look in the Alastair’s eyes.  
“Goodbye, Jensen.” Suddenly Dean’s really happy he picked a fake name. Most of the strippers have one, you can never know what kind of people come to this place. Like this Alastair guy. Creepy. Dean also doesn’t like that he said he’ll come back. This better not start to be a regular thing.  
For the moment, Dean’s just glad he can go home to Sammy.  
   
Dean turns the volume of the music up even more. Sam smiles brighter, singing out loud with him. Dean pushes the Impala even more then, and they’re flying on the empty streets.  
“Hold on, Sammy!” the younger brother laughs, gripping at his seatbelt. Dean smiles too, wind messing up his hair.  
“I can’t stop this feelin’ in my heart! Gotta keep searchin’ for my baby, I can’t find my bluebird!” As _Ramble on_ ends, a new song is already playing, and both he and Sam keep singing.  
And then Dean pulls up on the side of the road. The brothers get off the Impala and Dean picks up his backpack and then leads Sam through the woods.  
“Come _on,_ Dean, tell me where we’re going!”  
“What kind of shitty surprise would it be If I told you?”  
“Just a hint then.”  
“Nah, you gotta wait.”  
“Buy _why_ are we in the middle of the wood this late?” Dean smiles, looking up at the stars, barely visible through the trees.  
“ _Surprise,_ Sammy.”  
“I hate you.”  
“Bitch.”  
“Jerk.” They walk until they reach a glade, and Dean finally stops, putting down his backpack.  
“Alright, let’s see what we got here.” Dean shows his brother a couple of hand fountains and Sam’s eyes light up.  
“You got fireworks?”  
“Gotta celebrate this birthday right.” Dean smiles when Sam laughs, grabbing one of the fountain. He takes his lighter out of his pockets and lights his brother’s and then his own. And soon enough they’re shooting. “Hold it up!” Sam smiles holding up his arm.  
And when they’re gone, Dean claps his hands together, a grin on his face.  
“Alright Sasquatch, that was just the beginning.” Dean takes out from his backpack. He’s got a little bit of everything, roman candles, aerial repeaters, sparklers.  
“Dude!”  
“Told you I was gonna go big.” Sam seems ready to jump out of his skin, he’s so excited he can barely hold his hand still when Dean lets him light up the first few roman candles, and then the aerial repeaters and the sparklers.  
Dean just stands there, watching Sammy running under the colored and bright sparks. He watches his brother’s face be lit up by the lights and the flashes. He’s been a long time since he has seen his little brother so happy.  
“Thank you, Dean.” Sam says quietly, once they’re done and lying on the ground staring at the sky, the smell of smoke still intense in the air. Dean tears up a bit when Sammy hugs him so tight he can’t breathe. He allows himself to feel good and warm for a while, to feel useful, and wanted, and like he did something right for once.  
“Happy birthday, bitch.”  
   
“Aaron Bass.” John says the name like it was poison, like it’s the nastiest thing in the whole goddamn world. “You won’t see him again. I will not have a _fag_ for son.” he hisses. Dean shivers.  
He’s currently on the floor of the living room, bent in a half and not able to breathe. He also finds out he can’t talk, his lips swollen and useless, he can taste the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth. He wants to throw up.  
“You fucking heard me, boy?” John growls. He grabs a handful of his hair, pulling him up and shoving him against the wall. Dean groans, and then whimpers when John closes his hands around his neck and starts pressing down. Dean gasps for air, panic filling his mind. He can feel tears filling his eyes, but he forces himself to hold them back.  
He’s _not_ going to cry.  
“Dad, plea-  
“If I see you two together again, if I _hear_ of you two being together, I swear to God and everything that’s holy, I _will_ kill this fucking kid.” he coughs, trying to get some oxygen inside his burning lungs. And just when he is sure he is going to pass out, John releases the grip.  
And then it’s over, as fast and sudden as it started. John leaves, probably going to drink away the disappointment in his queer son.  
Dean just lays there after that. He can’t even starts to process what happened. He doesn’t want to. It hurts too much.  
He _knows_ John won’t kill Aaron, logically he knows. But he also knows that he will hurt him, really bad. Dean did everything he could to keep Aaron away from all the shit in his life, but apparently it wasn’t enough. He can’t do anything right, and now the person he loves is in danger.  
He should have done better, _more._ God.  
It doesn’t matter anyway.  
Maybe he’ll bleed out and won’t have to deal with this shit.  
Dean doesn’t want to break up with him. Fuck, Dean _loves_ him.  
It’s enough to make him feel sick.  
He turns on his side and finally throws up. He’s shaking. He can’t do this, he’s not strong enough.  
He didn’t want this to happen, he knew involving Aaron was a bad idea, it’s all his fault. He ruined everything.  
_That’s what you do, Dean. You ruin everything._  
His throat burns, his stomach is twisted, his eyes are watering.  
_Shit._  
Dean hates himself.  
   
“You’re not serious.” Dean just looks down. “Dean.”  
“I’m sorry.” he whispers, he knows it’s not enough. _He_ wasn’t enough in the first place.  
“You’re _sorry?_ I don’t care, Dean! What- why are you doing this?” Aaron’s voice cracks up a little and Dean has to force himself to not puke in that precise moment. It’s not like he had something in his stomach to vomit anyway, he hasn’t had a decent meal in days.  
“You know this is not going anywhere.”  
“I thought...what do you mean?”  
“This _thing,_ our relationship, where do you think is going? We’re just too different, Aaron, and you know it. It’s just-  
“I don’t know anything! You’re being stupid, and unreasonable, and this- this is crazy. Jesus. Something happened? What happened to your face?” Aaron lifts a hand, touching the ring of dark bruises all around his throat. Dean flinches, stepping back, his hands are shaking.  
_Focus, Dean._  
“That’s not the point.” he whispers, trying to hold himself together.  
“Are you okay?”  
“I’m fine.”  
“Then why- we’re doing _great,_ Dean! Fucking  great! We’re just- why did you just change your mind like that? Have I done something?” he sounds so desperate, stuttering on his own words. _Focus, Dean._  
Dean can count on one hand the people that care about him, and still have space. And now he’s pushing away one of them, because he’s a coward, and he’s dumb, and worthless, and just _bad._  
“It’s not your fault, you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s me, I can’t do this. I just _can’t_.”  
“But _why?”_  
“I’m sorry, Aaron. I really, really am.” Dean buries his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and just turns his back to him.  
He has to leave now, before he spills everything. And he can’t do that, he has to keep Aaron away from this. He has to keep him safe.  
_It’s the right thing._ It doesn’t make it any less painful.  
“Dean, please! We can fix it, okay? If something happened, _we can fix it!”_ Dean closes his eyes, forcing himself to keep walking. Just keep walking. Behind him, Aaron keeps calling his name.  
_Keep walking._  
   
Dean’s drunk. Very drunk.  
“Dean?”  
“Yeah, Sammy?”  
“Do you- do you wanna talk about Aaron?” he flinches at his name, his chest hurting. Everything hurts actually, his head most of all. He feels like drowning. Maybe he shouldn’t have drunk that much.  
Another bad decision to add to the list of Dean Winchester’s Bad Decision List. Great.  
“Not really.”  
“Will you go to school tomorrow?”  
“Maybe.” They both know he’s not going anywhere any time soon. He’s been skipping for a couple of days now, too drunk to even stand, but who cares. It’s not like he has parents that would scold him anyway. Dean would die for being yelled at by his mother.  
“Dean, can you not drink anymore?” Sammy sounds so pleading, and Dean wants to punch himself. He should protect Sam, should be there for his baby-brother. He’s screwing everything up.  
_But that what you do, isn’t it?_  
_Let down the people you love._  
“’M sorry, Sammy.”  
“Dean, I’m sorry for Aaron.” He closes his eyes, doing his best to swallow back the tears.  
“’M fine.” Sammy nods, and takes the bottle away from his hand. Dean lets him do it, burying his face back in the pillow. It hurts, it hurts so much.  
_Why did you have to be such a fucking disaster?_  
Sammy climbs on the bed, and snugs closer to his big brother. Dean wraps his arms around him, hiding his face in the crook of his neck.  
Sammy doesn’t say anything when a few tears run down his cheeks, he just holds him tighter.  
   
When John finds out Dean broke up with Aaron, he pats his son on the shoulder.  
“Good choice, son.”  
If then John is too drunk to notice Dean throwing up his dinner, well, that’s not his problem.  
   
   
“You guys saved my ass from a calculus test, thank you so much!” a girl with a short skirt stands on her toes to kiss Dean and Benny’s cheek, leaving behind a red mark with her lipstick. Benny lifts a hand to touch his face.  
“I think I’m in love.” He says dreamily, looking back at the girl.   
“That was fast.” Charlie laughs.  
“Dude, did you _see_ her? She had shorter skirt than my _hair!_ She’s the kind of girl I want to date.”  
“I bet she’s gay.” The red-head grins. “Or at least she’ll be when she spends a night with me.”  
“Humble.” Benny jokes, then turns to his best friend, but Dean doesn’t even notice it, completely zoned out. Benny snaps his fingers in front of his face, trying to get his attention. “Brother? Dean?”  
“Uh?”  
“What are you thinkin’ about?”  
“Nothing important, what’s up?”  
“You okay?” Charlie asks, worried expression on her face. Dean wants to slap himself, if nothing just to stop thinking about Aaron. It’s been barely two weeks and he’s going fucking crazy.  
“Yeah, fine. I- I have to go, catch you guys later?”  
“Yeah, but Dean-  
Dean ignores the sting of guilt when he turns and leaves both of them standing in the middle of the hallway and walks. Lately, apparently, the only thing he’s doing is turning his back to the people he loves. Suddenly he can’t breathe.  
His head hurts so bad.  
_Fuck._  
It really shouldn’t hurt this bad, it’s not normal. He should be over it, it’s been _two weeks._  
Two weeks in which he drank himself to sleep almost every night, in which Aaron has been trying to talk to him almost every day, in which he has to physically stop himself from punching his dad in the face, in which he has barely eaten something, in which he hasn’t been able to sleep, nightmares populating all his nights. He’s going crazy.  
He walks until he’s in the bathrooms, and closes himself in one of the cubicle.  
_Focus, Dean._  
His head is going to explode.  
He takes a few deep breaths, massaging his meninges, trying to sooth the pain even a bit.  
“Fuck.” He needs to calm down, his heart is beating so fast right now.  
“Dean?” he looks up, panic raising in his chest. “It’s Aaron.”  
_Fuck._  
That’s _exactly_ the shit that happens in his fucking life.  
“Are you okay in there?”  
“I’m- I’m fine.” He also hates how is voice cracks, revealing how much he’s _not_ okay.  
“Are you gonna come out?” Dean wants to say no, become invisible and slip away without being seen. He doesn’t want to face Aaron- he _does_ want to see him, but he can’t.  
“Maybe, later.”  
“Look, can we talk for a second?”  
“In the bathroom? How romantic.”  
“Please.” And Dean can totally imagine his face right now, all big brown pleading eyes. He unlocks the lock and comes out. And just stands there awkwardly, not daring to look up. “The bruises have healed.” Dean automatically lifts a hand to touch his neck, where the ring of bruises is almost gone, just a ugly, yellowish marks are left.  
“Yeah.” He doesn’t mention the new ones under his shirt.  
“You never told me how you got them.”  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
“Who hurt you?” Dean looks up.  
“Nobody.”  
“You fell, then?”  
“Yeah, it was an accident, I’m- I’m dumb.” Aaron is staring so intensely that Dean is sure he can see right through his soul.  
“I don’t believe you.”  
“That’s not my problem.” Dean wants to punch himself.  
“I think someone hurt you, and that someone is the reason why you broke up with me. What you said- it’s bullshit, and you know it.”  
“Aaron-  
“I love you. And I know you love me.” It’s like being hit by a truck in the face.  
_Focus, Dean._ He wishes Aaron could just let him go, he wishes Aaron never cared about him, he wishes he couldn’t see the pain in his eyes.  
“I never loved you.”  
Because in the end, Dean’s a liar. His whole life is built of lies, secrets he can’t tell anybody, things he will die before talking about them. That’s just another lie, one that hurts like Hell.  
Aaron stares at him with wide eyes.  
“Bullshit.” He sounds desperate, and Dean knows he made it. He broke his heart, and now maybe Aaron will hate him and move one.  
“I was with you just for the sex, I never had feelings for you, I was lying the whole time.”  
Aaron opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Dean has to swallow back his own tears when he sees the ones in Aaron’s eyes.  
He walks by, avoiding touching him, and leaves the bathroom. Then he starts running, ignoring all the weird looks. He runs until he’s out of the school, and he doesn’t stop until nobody can see him. Then, behind the building, hidden in the park, he punches a tree until his hands are completely covered in blood and his chest is empty.  
   
Aaron doesn’t try to talk to him again. Dean understands why John drinks so much, and maybe he starts doing it too.  
   
   
Alastair’s become a Dean’s regular. He has been working at the Hell’s rose for almost two months, and Alastair has come back at least twice a week, sometimes more. Dean doesn’t really like the guy, but he has been giving him very good tips, and Cain told him he’s some kind of powerful business man, better not mess around with him.  
Dean smiles at him as he enters the room.  
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Sharp.” Apparently he likes it when Dean call him Mister or Sir, even better. Dean figured he’s into some kinky shit. Not that Dean can judge, because he may or may not have asked Aaron to tie him to bed a couple of times when they were together. So what? He likes it rough.  
“It’s good to see you too, Jensen.”  
“How are you tonight?”  
“Better now that you’re here.” Dean smirks, shaking his head a bit.  
“Always so smooth.”  
“You make it easy.” Dean puts on the music, scrolling through the song until he finds one that he likes enough to dance. He’s exhausted. He had to pick up a couple more shifts at both Bobby’s and the club, and he still behind with the bills. Jesus. He can’t wait for the school to be over, so he can work full time. Lovely.  
Dean sits down on Alastair’s laps, running his fingers on the man’s chest.  
As per usual it doesn’t take long for him to come, and Dean’s about to get off of him, when Alastair grabs his wrist, pulling his down again.  
“We have- we have a no touch policy.” He tries to say. Alastair ignore him.  
“What’s your price, Jensen?”  
“My- my price for what?”  
“I want to fuck you.” he growls, and yep, that’s Dean’s cue to run. “What’s your price?”  
“I’m not a prostitute.” Dean hisses, getting off the man’s lap, and trying to free his wrist, but Alastair stands too, and only pulls him closer. Dean lifts the other hand to punch him or something, anything, but Alastair only catches his other wrist too.  
Well _fuck._  
_Nice move Winchester._  
“Let me go or I’ll call the security.”  
“Oh please, there’s no need for that. I just want to know what your price is, Jensen. Is that even your real name?”  
“Let me go!”  
“You don’t want to mess with me, boy. I’m a powerful man. Now be a good bitch and answer me.”  
“I’m not your fucking bitch, and I don’t give a fuck about who you are, let me go!” Dean tugs at his wrists, and surprisingly Alastair lets him go.  
“I’d pay you really well, Jensen.”  
“I don’t want your fucking money.” Dean steps back, panting. He wishes he was wearing more clothes than just the stupid g-string. Alastair nods.  
“You’ll change your mind.”  
“I doubt it.” Alastair grins.  
“See you next week, boy.” Dean doesn’t answer, and he only starts to breathe again when Uriel comes into the room to check on him.  
“You okay, kid?”  
“I’m fine.”  
   
“Dean we’re gonna die!” Sam screams. Benny laughs and Dean only goes faster. Today is a great day. Dad hasn’t been home for a few days, and Dean hasn’t seen Alastair in almost a week. So yeah, he’s having a pretty good day. He promised he’d take Sam and Benny for a ride, and that’s why he’s speeding through the streets of the town, windows down, music loud. Louder than Sammy’s screams anyway.  
Honestly, he’s just happy he can drive his Baby.  
“Shut up, Sammy! I know what I’m doing!” but he slows down anyway. Benny’s sitting shotgun and he changes music to one of the tapes Dean has made and immediately ACDC starts to play out loud. Both Dean and Sammy sing along, mostly because Dean forced his baby brother to listen to his music for so long that the kid just picked up on all the songs.  
Dean drives to the best ice cream place in the whole city, and there they all get a cone.  
“This shit is good.” Dean hums happily, sitting behind the wheeler.  
“Brother, did you tell Sam about our last prank?” Benny asks after a while. Dean grins, shaking his head.  
“Nope.”  
“Dean! You did another prank and didn’t tell me?” after that, Dean starts telling the story, making Sam giggle.  
That’s good, Dean’s happy.  
   
A lot of shit is happening in Dean’s life.  
First of all, Bobby had to fire John. Dean doesn’t blame him, the man never shows up for work, and when he does he’s usually too drunk to actually be productive. _But_ John being fired means that he’s angry with the entire world, and that usually results in Dean getting beaten up.  
Which sucks only by itself, but it also means that he’s covered in bruises and cuts _all the time,_ which means he can’t dance, because there’s _no way_ he’s going to strip like that. Thank God Cain let him do the waiter while he gets his shit together. Still, the paid is worse, and Dean misses the attention.  
Second of all, John being fired means that he has more time to drink, and Dean strongly suspects he’s starting to use drugs, because he has found a little bag under the couch with a very suspicious white powder, and that definitely wasn’t fucking sugar.  
Dean wants to slap him.  
But he can’t, because logically he knows that it will only make it worse, and things are already pretty shitty right now.  
Third of all, John drinking more –and possibly using drugs- means there are more debts to pay. Two days ago a couple of guys showed up at their door, looking for Dad that apparently owed them some money, and almost beat the shit out of Sammy when they didn’t find him. Dean came home just in time. He paid the two guys and vowed to himself to never leave Sam alone again.  
The poor kid.  
And fucking cherry on the top, Dad broke one of the window in an outburst of rage. So there’s that to fix too. Fan-fucking-tastic.  
With all this shit going down, Dean had to pick up more shifts at both Bobby’s and the club to not remain behind with the bills. It’s not really working out.  
If he thinks he has to start saving up for Sammy’s college he wants to cry.  
So Dean tells himself it’s okay if he dropped on his knees and blowed a couple of strangers for money. He has a fucking rent to pay, and he’s already behind. If he thinks about it, he wants to throw up. God. This is a new low even for him. Dean hates himself.  
In this precise moment Dean is going to take the order at one of his table. It’s Alastair’s usual table, and the man is sitting there. When he sees Dean he grins at him.  
“Good evening, Mr. Sharp. What can I get you?”  
“Hello, Jensen. A scotch fizz, thank you.”  
“No problem.” Dean brings the order to Meg, who’s bartending tonight, and quickly brings the glass back to the table.  
“Here you go, enjoy yourself.” He smiles, but when he’s about to walk away, Alastair grabs his wrist. Dean shivers. “You can’t-  
“What happened to your face, boy?” Dean instinctively lifts a hand to touch his bruised cheek.  
“Nothing you need to worry about.”  
“You’re not dancing anymore. Not even doing privates.”  
“I took a week off. I have some stuff to fix.”  
“You’re a bad liar, Jensen.” Dean glares at him, tugging at the man’s grip, but Alastair doesn’t let go. Only straddles him closer, so fast that Dean loses his balance. Alastair takes the chance to grab his hips and forcing him to sit down on his lap. Dean gasps, finding himself trapped.  
“Let me go.” He says as calmly as he can. Cain told him to not piss Alastair off, because he didn’t lie when he said he was powerful and could ruin all their lives in a second. Dean’s not sure what kind of things Alastair does, but it’s nothing legal, that’s for sure. And that means he’s dangerous, and Dean definitely doesn’t need more shit in his life. Even if that means pretending to like this creepy guy.  
 “Oh, come on now, Jensen. I just want to help you. Who did this to you?” Dean doesn’t like where this conversation is heading.  
“It’s not your damn business.” Alastair might been a drug lord or whatever, but Dean isn’t taking his shit. “Now let me go, I’ve got clients waiting.”  
“Come working for me, Dean.”  
“What?”  
“I’m offering you a job. I’ll pay you four- no five times whatever you’re making here.” Dean raises an eyebrow.  
“What kind of job are we talking about?” because Dean could really use the extra money. Alastair lifts a hand and cups his cheek, stroking his bottom lip with his thumb. Dean shivers, but holds still.  
“Such a pretty face, you shouldn’t waste it.”  
“What’s the job?”  
“It’s not much different from stripping.” He says, his other hand slips under Dean’s shirt. He flinches, slapping the man’s hand away.  
“What’s this fucking job?” Dean has an idea, and he doesn’t like it.  
“Just let me and a few of my friends have a ride with you.”  
“A whore. You want me to be your fucking whore.”  
“No need for such a term, but…  
“But yes.”  
“I’ll pay you very well. You wouldn’t have to worry about money for the rest of your life.” Dean swallows hard. His hands are shaking.  
“Of how much are we talking about?”  
“Three hundreds. Per hour.” Dean wants to cry. How is he supposed to say no?  
“I need to think about it.”  
“Of course, Jensen. Here’s my number. Call me.” Dean takes the business card Alastair’s offering and gets off his lap. The man lets him go with a smug smirk on his lips, and Dean basically runs away.  
Once he’s in the locker room, he leans against the wall.  
“Breathe slow.” He says to himself, he needs to calm down before he has a panic attack in the middle of a strip club.  
_Focus, Dean._  
He doesn’t need to do this.  
Okay, maybe they don’t have a lot of money, but Dean always found a way to get through without dying. Okay, maybe this time is worse than usual, because he barely has enough to feed Sammy, but he’ll just skip some meals. Okay, maybe tomorrow both rent and the water bill are due, and Dean doesn’t have nearly enough money to pay them, and that really sucks because he’s already two months late with rent and the owner of the house is going to kick his ass out of the house, _but._ He doesn’t have to do this.  
He slides down on the wall until he’s sitting on the floor, and at that point he pulls his knees to his chest.  
One time. One night.  
One time will be enough to pay for everything if Alastair’s serious about the money, and Dean’s pretty sure he is.  
Only one time. Only one night.  
He sighs, forcing back the tears that he feels at the corners of his eyes. It’s really not that bad.  
It’s going to be a one-time thing. It’s okay, he doesn’t have to do it again.  
It’s just sex. Dean has had plenty of sex in his short life. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s going to be a _one-time thing._  
He goes back into the club, forcing himself to breath _slow._ He’s going to have a frigging panic attack if he doesn’t relax a bit.  
He goes back to Alastair’s table, the man is still sitting there, nursing his scotch and watching the strippers. Dean hides his shaking hands in the pocket of his black jeans and moves closer.  
“Mr. Sharp.” The man turns, raising an eyebrow, smirking.  
“Already back?”  
“I thought about it.”  
“That didn’t take long, I was expecting to hear from you no sooner than at least three days.”  
“I make my decision fast.”  
“Yes, I can see that. So what’s your final verdict?”  
“I’ll- I’ll do it. But it’s gonna be a one-time thing.” Dean chokes out, barely audible over the loud music. Alastair nods, satisfied. “And I want the money before.”  
“Of course, boy.”  
“Of how- how many people are we talking about?”  
“Just me and another guy. You’ll meet him beforehand and you’re free to call the whole thing off if you want to.” Dean nods, because right now he can’t speak. “Good, can I have your number, please? So I can text you the information.” Dean nods again, taking out his pen and quickly writes down his number on a napkin. And then he walks away before he can change his mind, before Alastair can see how bad he’s shaking.  
When he reaches the bar Meg studies his face for a couple of seconds and then gives him a drink without saying anything. Dean drinks it all in a single sip, ignoring his screaming mind.  
He’ll need something stronger.  
_Focus, Dean._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment or a kudos to let me know what you think, I always appreciate!  
> Warnings:  
> -Stripping  
> -Alastair is an Asshole  
> -Child abuse  
> -Homophobia/Homophobic language  
> -John Winchester A+ parenting  
> -Panic attacks  
> -Alcohol as a coping mechanism/ Alcohol abuse  
> -Mention of prostitution 
> 
> (Jesus, that's a lot of crap, what is wrong with me)


	13. You don't own me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry if there are errors, i'm kinda in a hurry and don't have time to review it, let's hope it's not to bad.  
> Anyway, please read the notes at the end for the warnings, this is not entirely a nice chapter.  
> Song: You don't own me by Grace

_You don’t own me_  
 _I’m not just one of your many toys_  
 _You don’t own me_  
 _Don’t say I can’t go with other boys_  
   
 _You don’t own me_  
 _Don’t try to change me in any way_  
 _You don’t own me_  
 _Don’t tie me down cause I’d never stay_  
   
   
You wouldn’t know how to explain how you get here.  
 _Here_ , in this case, is on your all four, with cat’s ears on your head, a vibrator with a cat tail and a collar around your neck.  
 (‘ _Cats are way better than dogs, Cas.’ ‘Then why don’t you prove it, Dean?’)_  
“Fuck.”  
“C’mon Dean, be a good kitten.” Cas runs his fingers through your messy hair, between the fake cat’s ears. “What did I tell you? Kittens don’t swear.”  
“I would like to see you with a plug in your ass trying to remain silent.” You protest. He grins, the bastard, cupping your check.  
“Dean, cats meows, they don’t talk.” You snort.  
“Then I’m a smart cat.”  
The toy vibrates faster –the vibrator that has a fake cat tail attached. God help you.  
“Such a bad boy, Dean.” his hand hits your ass, a thrill runs down your spine.  
“Now, where were we?” you smirk, turning.  
“I was sucking you off.” He glares at you.  
“Dean, I told you to don’t talk.” He’s annoyed. A part of your brain tells you to shut the fuck up and do what he tells you, to be a good boy. You ignore it. That’s not what you want today.  
“Do I look like I care?” You _purr_ against his stomach, then leave a wet kiss on the top of his hard cock. He grabs the collar around your neck, in black leather, and pulls you up on your knees.  
“Maybe I should teach you some respect.” He whispers, voice low and dangerous. And your stomach twists, because you have been provoking him since this thing started. “Sit on your heels.” You immediately obey.  
“Can you count out loud for me, Dean?”  
“Yes, Sir.”  
“You are not allowed to move.”  
“Yes, Sir.”  
The first time his hand hits your hard cock, well, it hurts. And it’s unexpected.  
“O-one.” You voice cracks, your hands clench on your thighs. His eyes look for yours, asking a mute question. You nod. You’re okay, you like this –God you _love it._  
The second one hits you exactly on the reddish top of your dick, hard, you bite your lip so strong that it bleeds.  
“Two.”  
The third and the fourth are even harder. “Three. Four.” On the last one a chocked moan leaves your mouth. You lift your hand, biting it, trying to hold yourself together. You’re thankful Cas lets it slip.  
“Look at me.” It’s pretty hard, with your eyes full of tears.  
“Five!” you scream it, when his fingers slam against your balls. Your body shakes, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the pain or the pleasure. Cas strokes your aching dick slowly, you flinch, his hand hits it again. A tear runs down on your cheek. He wipes it away with a thumb, his lips brushing against yours.  
“Six.” You choke out. It requires all of your will power to stay still and not move away when his hand slowly slides on your chest.  
“Turn.” You obliges, on all four again. He slides his knuckles on your ass, then spreading them and pushing the vibrator deeper. You arch your back when it vibrates against your prostate.  
“Wag your tail, Dean. Show me how sorry you are.” you hesitate a second. God, what are you doing with your life.  
But then you do it, arching your back even more, spreading your thighs and moving your ass side to side. The tail follows your movement, the vibrators hits your prostate once again. _God._  You can _feel_ Cas holding his breath.  
“Meow for me, Dean.” you smirk.  
 _Asshole._  
“Or what?” the slap is so fast that at the first you only hear the sound, but then you feel also the pain. You moan, shivering.  
“I told you to count.”  
“Seven.” You whisper, out of breath.  
“You’re too disrespectful, today.” He’s disappointed. Your heart sinks. But part of you is impatient. That’s what you wanted. And now you just wait for him to go heavy on this, to break you, then you’ll get what you were looking for.  
“I’m sorry, Sir.” The slap is straight on the right cheek. “Eight.” Left cheek. “Nine. Ten.” Cas is fast, but it doesn’t make any of them less painful. “Eleven.” He alternated the slaps to gentle caresses on your back, it’s driving you crazy. Your brain is so light, so empty.  
 _Finally._  
 _“_ Twelve. Thirt-” Your voice gives out. You clear your throat. “Thirteen.”  
You can feel the tension around you, the anticipation that builds up in your chest when his fingers move over your hole. Then there it is, exactly on the plug, pushing it as deep as possible. “ _Fourteen_.”  
And then Cas keeps going and going, with you moaning the numbers, your ass burning. You try to not squirm away, you want more, you deserve this, you deserve so much worse.  
You take it, trying to stay as still as possible. It’s good. You’re good. Your mind is empty.  
“Twenty.” You finally close your eyes, swallowing back the tears prickling at corners of your eyes.  
“Did you learn your lesson?” the first time you open your mouth doesn’t come out anything. You’re shaking.  
“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.” Cas strokes your hair, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head.  
“So good for me, Dean. Always so good.”  
And your mind is still so empty that you can almost believe him.  
“I’ll be right back. _Don’t_ move.” You nod slightly, keeping your eyes closed. The second his touch leaves you’re wrapped by the cold.  
 _He left you._  
 _He’ll come back._  
 _How do you know that?_  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“Dean.” you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Now be a good kitten and drink your milk.” You almost choke on air. You raise an eyebrow looking at him, because, seriously? _Milk._ What a bad joke. He grins, like he knows exactly what are you thinking about.  
 _God damn it, Cas._  
He puts the bowl in front of you. There’s your fucking name in gold on this bowl.  
 _What the fuck._  
You stare at him with a skeptical face, and he smirks.  
“Now, you will drink your milk as a good kitten while I fuck you senseless, and if you finish it before I’m done, maybe I’ll let you come.”  
 _Fucking bastard._  
You snort, and Cas chuckles. His smile warms you a bit. He slides his hand on your back, that automatically arches under his touch and then he’s behind you.  
“l suggest you to start drinking, Dean.” you start to lap the milk, almost chocking when Cas pulls out the vibrator in a dry, single move.  
“Jesus, Cas.” You can _feel_ his smirk.  
He spreads your cheeks wide, your skin is burning, your ass stings. He holds you steady by your hips as he thrust inside you, as deep as he can go. You moan, trying to drink the milk faster. God, you’re so hard.  
Cas makes you open your thighs even more, your fist clenches around the sheets.  
“God, Dean.”  
And then he starts moving, sinking deeply in your body and almost immediately finding your battered prostrate, and it takes a physical effort to not choke on milk. Cas moans again and it must be the hottest sound you have ever heard in your pathetic life. You know you will remember it forever.  
“Cas.” It’s all you say once you have swallowed the last sip of milk.  
“What a good kitten.” The praise makes you flatter and you feel a smirk opening on your lips.  
Then Cas slips out of you.  
“What the fuck, Cas.” But then he’s gripping at your hips again, making you turn. He sits on his heels, and drags you closer, your legs around his waist. You get the hint.  
You hold on to his shoulder, Cas thrusts in you once again, hard, and you moan loud, throwing back your head.  
“Yeah, Cas, like that, harder.” He bites your neck, sucking red mark on your skin. “Fuck yes, oh God, Cas- faster, _fuck.”_ You rock back at his every thrust, losing yourself in heat, melting under Cas’ hands. Then he’s pulling down your face, and he’s kissing you, and _God, please don’t ever stop._  
You moan, his tongue claiming your mouth.  
“Come for me, Dean.” and it’s like breaking a dam, you’re coming, hard and violent, on his stomach and on yours. You tighten your ass around his cock, breaking the kiss to gasp, and then he groans, burying his face in your chest, your fingers lost in his dark hair. He thrusts a couple of few more times, riding the orgasm with a moan that sounds a lot like your name.  
   
“Cas, I know that I’m stunning, but would you stop staring at me, please? It’s kinda creepy.”  
“I apologize.” You nod, turning your eyes to the tv again. You might fall asleep soon, curled against Cas on his couch, his hand absently stroking your hip under the blanket. It’s so nice and warm. You still are not used to this. To the kindness after the sex. To an _after sex_ in general terms.  
“Dean, how are you?” you raise an eyebrow, turning your face to him..  
“I’m fine.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“If you’re talking about my ass, yes, we’re both fine. Kinda sore. I’ll survive.”  
“No, I’m not- I’m not talking about your ass. I’m talking about _you.”_ and the way he asks it makes you think that he actually cares about the answer –about you. You’re not used to this either.  
“Yeah, I’m fine.”  
“Perhaps, you want to talk about something?” you sigh, rubbing your eyes.  
“What the hell are you talking about, Cas?”  
“I’m not talking about anything particular, I’m just asking.” You stare at him, and he stares back.  
“You’re a weirdo.” He miles and shrugs. That makes you chuckle. But then his smile fades and he’s serious again, and what the fuck is his problem, now? Damn, you were so relaxed.  
“You were a little bit…on the edge, before. Tensed. I’m wondering if everything is okay.”  
Ah. Now you get it. That’s his way to tell ‘ _I’m here to listen to whatever your crap is.’_  
You think about the fifty texts Alastair sent you before you turned off your phone.  
And _there_ is where you need to trace the line.  
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just tough morning at the hotel.” it’s his turn to stare at you with a skeptical expression because you _never_ work, so there’s no way you had a ‘tough morning’ but yeah, whatever. You smirk at him, and rest your head again on his shoulder. The conversation is over.  
“Dean, you know you can talk with me.” You close your eyes, ignoring the warmth in your chest.  
“Yeah, I know, Cas.”  
   
 _From A:_  
 _-That beer looks disgusting._  
You freeze, the glass half away to your mouth. Your head snaps up so fast the bartender turns at you. You quickly look around you, your eyes that slide over the clients in this small bar far from the city center. Your phone buzz again.  
- _Are you looking for me, boy?_  
He can’t be here. He just can’t.  
- _Impatient to see me again?_  
“Are you okay?” the bartender ask. You look up at him, confused. “Hey, are you drunk?”  
“No, no, I’m not- have you by chance seen a man, about fifty years old, gray hair, sharp blue eyes, creepy? He’s probably wearing a suit or something.” The man stares at you, puzzled, for a second or two.  
“No, I haven’t. You sure you okay, man? You’re pale.”  
“Yeah, I’m fine.”  
You need to leave.  
You leave some money on the counter, you don’t even know how much, you couldn’t care less, and basically run out the bar. It’s dark outside –it’s fucking one in the morning.  
Your phone buzzes again in your pocket. God. You look around frantically once again. He _can’t_ be here.  
 _Please, don’t be here._  
You walk down the street, you can see the Impala right behind the corner when you parked her almost two hours ago.  
Another text. The cold infiltrates beneath the skin. You’re almost there.  
“Dean.” you freeze. “Are you running away from me?”  
It literally takes all your willpower to turn and face him.  
“You’re changed.” You force a smirk, that looks more like a disgusted face. “Time hasn’t be nice with you.”  
“I see you haven’t learn how to properly behave.”  
“Perhaps your methods aren’t efficient as you believed.”  
“Perhaps I only need to refresh your memory.” The cold smile on his lips creeps the hell out of you.  
“Oh trust me, my memory is way too fresh.” You say, grimacing.  
“I’m not sure. Two years is a long time, boy.”  
“Not long enough.” You stare at him. Maybe if you run fast enough you’ll reach the Impala before he can shoot you or something. He knows he’s a gun, you can see the outline of it under his grey jacket. He always has one. “What do you want, Alastair?”  
He grins, opening his arms. You step back. You’re really close.  
“I’m willing to forget what out last _rendez-vous,_ and that…accident.” Well, that’s surprising. God, you so not trust him.  
“Why?”  
“Even the best relationships have their bad moments. It happens, it just is as it is.” Other two steps, Alastair moves closer. You have to swallow back the retches. “And in exchange I only want a small favor.”  
“What?”  
“Come back to work for me.”  
You just start laughing, hysterically . Maybe you’re going crazy, or maybe this entire situation it’s just so surreal, he can’t be serious, can he?  
“You’re kidding, right?”  
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”  
He doesn’t.  
“Why in Hell would I do that? And why the fuck would you ‘forget that accident’? I shot you, and I would do it again.” Your smile fades as you watch his blue eyes, cold as ice, dangerous like a fire.  
“You were the best, Dean. I’m sure you still are. You made me do some great deal.”  
“You _tortured_ me, son of a bitch. You made my life a _living Hell!”_ you need to take a deep breath before going on, your vision is blurry. Anger and fear are both filling your chest, your hands are shaking uncontrollably. You must go away from him.  
If you survive to this you’re going to move to god damn Alaska, where he will never find you again.  
“I’m not sure you really have a choice, you know?”  
“What the fuck are you talking about?” his evil grin grows wider, his eyes thinner.  
“We both know where you find the money to send Samuel, right, to Stanford, isn’t it? And after that the money to buy the Hotel. It would be a shame if also the rest of the world would come to know that too, am I wrong? It could ruin everything you have worked for.”  
You swallow hard, trying to keep the flashbacks out of your mind. And you’re pissed, so pissed, because it’s been two years, and he still has all of this power over you, and that’s just not fair.  
“Dean?”  
“If you do anything, _anything,_ to hurt me or my brother, I swear to God, I’ll find you, and this time I won’t miss you goddamn heart.” His grin vanishes.  
“Are you threatening me, boy?”  
“I’m not your boy anymore, son of a bitch.” You turn and walk toward the Impala.  
“Dean.” you don’t turn to face him. “If this is what you want I’ll just have to move to Plan B.”  
 _Don’t turn. Keep walking._  
“I’ll get my revenge, Dean. I’ll show you what real pain is.”  
You slide in the car, and drive away as fast as you can. You almost run over a man, you don’t care, you just need to go away.  
   
 _“What are you doing, Dean?” your hand is steady as you look at him in the eyes. You don’t even flinch as you press the trigger. You’re not scared, or regretful, as you watch the blood leaving his side. You smile when you see the pure surprise and hurt in his cold eyes._  
 _“If you’re lucky enough, the police will save you.” that’s all you say, leaving the room without turning back._  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> -Low self-esteem  
> -Roleplay  
> -Dean's not okay   
> -Mention of prostitution  
> -Alastair being an asshole  
> -Stalking  
> -Graphic description on violence


	14. Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, what's up guys?  
> I'm back with a VERY angsty chapter, I hate myself sometimes.   
> Please read the Warnings at the end, and leave a comment or a kudos!  
> Song: Strangers by Halsey ft. Lauren

_Said that we’re not lovers, we’re just strangers_  
 _With the same damn hunger_  
 _To be touched, to be loved, to feel anything at all._  
   
  
 _The world is melting down. The world is spinning fast, faster._  
 _Somewhere in your mind you ask yourself why, but you don’t really care. Priorities._  
 _You can’t move, your arms are tied behind your back, you can’t speak, a gag ball is in your mouth._  
 _The room is crowded, you can’t really distinguish the people, all in black, all with masks, but you can hear their laughs, their comments. Their requests._  
 _Your legs are weak, you can’t even stand. It’s good you don’t have too. You’re bent over a table._  
 _How did you get in that room?_  
 _Then there’s a movement in the side of your eyes, something snaps in the air, and then there’s the pain. It has always been there, but you just didn’t notice it. Now you feel it._  
 _There’s the dry sound of the leather against your bare skin, the fire all over your back, that flash of reality and consciousness in your mind. Your body shakes and tenses._  
 _“What number, boy?” you know that voice. Speaking is difficult, your mind is numb._  
Focus, Dean.  
 _“Sixty-eight.” You hear yourself say. Alastair runs his hand through your hair. There’s pain again. Someone is laughing. A lot of someone._  
 _“My little toy.”_  
   
 _“C’mon, Alastair, put it inside.”_  
 _“Keep calm, Lucifer. I don’t want to break my toy.”_  
 _“It’s supposed to hurt.”_  
 _“Then why don’t you do it?”_  
 _“My pleasure. Move.” People shift behind you. You blink, trying to see something through the tears. And then you’re screaming, arching your back, the gag that suffocates you. The guy, Lucifer, pushes a vibrator -giant, huge, way to big- in your ass in a single thrust, all the way down. It hurts. It hurts so much. Your ass and your back are on fire. You wish they had used more lube. You wish they had used lube_ at all.  
 _“Told you he could take it.” Alastair laughs. Tears run down on your face._  
Please, stop.   
 _Then he starts fucking with it, and you just blank out. It’s just too much._  
   
 _“Bitch.”_  
 _“Slut.”_  
 _“Trash.”_  
 _“Whore.”_  
 _And the worst of all comes out of Alastair’s mouth._  
 _“My broken toy.”_  
 _You swallow hard around someone’s dick, might be Zacharia, you’re not sure. You’re not sure of anything._  
 _Behind you Lucifer, you know it’s him, it’s pounding in your ass, his grip on your hips so strong he’s leaving dark bruises._  
   
 _-Does Castiel Novak know about your dirty little secrets?_  
A cold thrill runs down your spine while you read the text.  
You fingers hesitate over the screen.  
 _-It would be such a shame if he decided to leave you because of it, wouldn’t it, boy?_  
You close your eyes.  
God.  
“Dean?” you close the chat, snapping your head up to Sam. “Are you okay?”  
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You mutter, taking a big sip of your coffee, eyeing the box of donuts on Sam’s desk.  
Your nightmares got worse since Alastair’s first text, and now you’re lucky if you get one or two hours of sleep every night. The coffee is the only thing that keeps you up. That and the little bit of whiskey you pour in each cup before drinking it. You just don’t like the taste of coffee that much.  
“Who were you texting?”  
“Nobody.” And it’s not even a lie. You weren’t texting anybody, Alastair was texting you.  
“Was it…was it Alastair?” you raise an eyebrow.  
“I said I’m fine, Samantha, stop being so annoying. I still have a life other than _him.”_  
“I know, I know, Dean, but you looked, I don’t know, worried.” You smirk, pretty sure you looked terrified. You are terrified. Not that you are going to say it out loud.  
“I’m fine.”  
“You’re lying.”  
“God- leave me alone, Sammy. I’m fine.”  
“You met him, didn’t you?”  
“What the hell are you talking about?”  
“Dean, you’re even more on edge than usual! You’re freaking out, badly. God, you could have just told me. Did he… did he hurt you?”  
“Shut up, Sam, God, _I’m fine.”_ You stand, but before you can even reach the door Sam’s in front of it.  
“Dean.”  
“Jesus, Sammy. What the hell do you want me to say?”  
“The truth! I just want- I just want you to drop this tough-façade. I want you to stop pretending you’re okay, and that you’re not fucking terrified by all this mess. I want to help you Dean, but I can’t if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” You run a hand through your hair.  
And you thought you were doing okay to hide all this crap. Guess you aren’t that great actor you thought you were.  
“Dean.” he sounds so desperate, with his big puppy eyes. _Dammit_. You should have known that him offering you donuts was a trap.  
“Yeah, yeah I met him.”  
“What did he do?”  
“Nothing. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”  
“What does that even mean?”  
“He- God, do we have to do this? I can’t-  
“Dean, what did he want?”  
“He wanted- I, Jesus. He wanted me to go back. He wanted me to _work_ for him again.”  
“What the f- why would he want that? I thought, I thought you shot him. How did he even escape from prison?”  
“He has friends, Sam. Powerful assholes. I bet that wasn’t too difficult.”  
“Jesus.”  
“He said I was his best- his best, uhm.”  
 _Slut?_  
 _Bitch?_  
 _Whore?_  
 _Toy?_  
 _“_ I was his best. He _missed_ me, or some crap. I said no, of course.”  
“And then?” and here’s the fun part.  
“He threatened me. Us. Well, everything.”  
“What? He can’t do that. What can he do?”  
“God, Sam, what do you think? He _knows_ where I got the money to buy the hotel, he _gave_ them to me. He could easily ruin us with a god damn phone call to a newspaper. Not to talk about the physical things he could do to you.”  
“You need to call the police, there’s something they can do, there must be!”  
“It wouldn’t stop him from making that call anyway. Plus, I bet half of department works for him.”  
“Well, we have to do something!”  
“Yeah, _I know,_ thank you Captain Obvious.” You just don’t know what.  
Maybe you should just go back with him, leave Sam –and Cas- out of this mess, your mess. Jesus. A cold thrill runs down your spine at the only thought of going back.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you, that night?”  
“No, no, I’m- I’m fine.”  
“You look like shit.”  
“Thank you, Samantha.”  
“Are, are the nightmares back?”  
“When did they leave?” you sit back on one of the armchair, reaching for the coffee. Your stomach twists when you think about eating one of the donuts.  
“You could go away.”  
“What?”  
“Yeah, leave for a while. Take a break.”  
“And leave you here with him? Fuck no. Plus, it’s not like he’s going to forget me or anything.” You drink the whole cup of coffee in one sip, and then refill it with whiskey. “Maybe I should just shot him again.”  
“Dean.”  
“I’m kidding. Sort of.”  
“We’ll figure something out.”  
“Yeah, sure.”  
   
When you arrive at the gallery, the place is already pretty crowded. Which doesn’t really surprise you because Cas’ art is fucking _incredible._ It’s not that big, but it’s enough to show at least twenty paintings, maybe even something more.  
A weird overwhelming feeling of _proud_ hits you, because yes, if someone deserves all of this, it’s Cas. You put your hands inside the pockets of your jacket, looking around for him.  
You don’t see him anywhere, but you spot the bar, and that’s your first stop. The bartender hands you a glass of champagne –classy- and you feel immediately better. You get another glass and start wandering around.  
Most of the paintings you have already seen them at Cas’ place. And you’re not surprised when you recognize yourself in more than one. There’s the one with you screaming and back turned to the audience and the one in which you are an angel. It wasn’t finished last time you saw it, but now it’s complete.  
You look good.  
“Is that you?” you flinch, turning. A lady in long red dress is staring at the painting, holding a glass and way too close to you. You smile, stepping back.  
“I believe so.”  
“I’m impressed.” The lady sips her champagne. “Do you know Castiel Novak intimately?”  
 _Biblically._  
“Yeah, we’re- we have been friends for a while.” She smiles, nodding.  
“Looks like you’re a real inspiration for him.”  
“I guess so.”  
“I can totally see why, a handsome man like yourself.”  
Now, you could play along, and if you’re lucky enough, maybe even find a way to get under that dress, but honestly, you don’t really feel like getting laid.  
 _God, what happened to me?_  
You drink the rest of your champagne in one sip, letting out a sigh.  
“I think I have to go.” You smile as politely as you can, and she looks puzzled, but nods anyway, and the next second you are already walking away.  
You still have to find Cas.  
As you walk around, some people stare at you, probably recognizing you from the paintings. It makes you feel slightly uncomfortable, which is weird, because you’re used to being watched –maybe exactly because of that.  
You finally spot Cas talking to Gabriel and another man you sort of remember from the charity party almost four months ago –God, has it been so long?  
Before you can even process the thought, Cas saw you and- did his face light up or it’s just you?  
“Dean.” he says, a smile opening on his face, you smile back, reaching the trio.  
“Hey Cas, Gabe.” You turn to the third man –God, _you know_ his name, you just can’t seem to remember it.  
“This is Balthazar, you met him at the charity party a while back, I believe.” Cas says, and _yeah, of course, Cas’ ex-boyfriend._  
“Nice to see you again.” You says. Balthazar smirks.  
“My pleasure again, Dean Winchester.” He seems to strip you down with his gaze.  
 _Wow, what the hell did they put in the champagne tonight?_  
You smile as politely as possible, and then smirk when you see Cas shooting him a glare.  
“Nice thing you got going on here, Cas. People are kinda staring at me, but the paintings are awesome.” He blushes a little –it’s _not_ adorable at all, pff- and smiles.  
“Thank you, Dean.”  
“Why don’t you give him a tour of the place, Cassie?” Gabe ask, quirking up his eyebrows suggestively.  
“Uh, yes, sure. Please, follow me.” And it’s not even remotely sexy, but just the fact that his voice sounds like he’s giving you orders makes you think about a totally different kind of orders, and it just sends a thrill down your spine.  
God, you’re so screwed.  
“So.” You start, walking maybe a little too close to him that what would be socially acceptable, but yeah, whatever. “How is this going?”  
“Surprisingly well. There a lot more people than what I had expected.”  
“Sounds great.” He smiles, like a genuine happy, sincere smile, and it makes you feel hot because seeing an actual smile on Castiel Novak it’s like a blessing –you feel blessed.  
“Indeed. I…a few people already expressed their desire to buy some of my paintings, and, wow, it’s exciting. I’m really happy.” You smile back, warm inside.  
“Well, I’m glad. You deserve it, Cas. Your paintings are fucking amazing.” He turns and his smile is even brighter. _So_ blessed.  
“Thank you, Dean. It means a lot.” He says quietly, a hand on your arm. You fight the strong impulse of leaning in and kiss him, feeling how that damn smile would feel on your lips.  
“No problem, man. I’m only speaking the truth.” You walk in silence for a while, _accidentally_ bumping into Cas’ shoulder every once in a while.  
“And how are you, Dean?” he studies you carefully, like looking for _something._  
“I’m fine, I guess.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Yeah, yeah, why wouldn’t I be fine?” wrong question, of course. You look in front of you. “Don’t answer that.”  
“Dean-  
“I’m fine.” He doesn’t say anything for like, three minutes. Then he sighs, deeply.  
“I just want you to be okay, Dean.”  
“I _am_ okay, Cas. Really.”   
He stops in the middle on the way, and you realize he has led you to a more isolate area, there’s only another man, that’s staring at one of the paintings on the wall. This bastard. This was a trap.  
“So you have panic attacks on a daily basis?”  
“No, I don’t, that was an…exception.”  
“Because something happened, something that clearly really upset you.”  
“Jesus, Cas, what do you want?”  
“I want you to tell me the truth.” You huffs a laugh.  
“Trust me, you _really_ don’t.”  
“Try me.”  
“What- no, I don’t, _ugh._ Look, I really don’t wanna talk about this, and just to make it clear, you don’t have the fucking right to even _ask_ me about it, you don’t get to watch out for me like this, because, because-  
 _Dean, shut the fuck up, I swear to God, if you-_  
“-because you are _not_ my boyfriend or anything like that, Jesus Christ, it’s just fucking sex. I didn’t sign up for this shit, I don’t need your help, I don’t _want_ your fucking help!”  
 _You fucking idiot._  
“ _Oh.”_ Cas presses his lips together, and his eyes have never been so cold and distant.  
 _What have you done, you dumbass._  
“I see.” He says, his face inexpressive and emotionless. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry if I was arrogant enough to assume that this _thing,_ between us, was more than just sex. You don’t care, I _understand,_ why would you?” He looks down for a second, and then up to your eyes again. He nods once to himself. “Goodbye, Dean.”  
You watch him walk away, back straight and head held high. He doesn’t turn to watch at you, still standing like an idiot in the middle of the way, blood pumping in your ears.  
 _Jesus Christ._  
 _Call him. Stop him. Do something!_  
But you can’t move, your feet are glued to the floor.  
Maybe it’s better this way. Let’s be honest, this was bound to happen, because you’re fucked up, you’re worthless, you’re nothing more than a broken toy, and Cas- Cas is _Cas._ Cas is everything you don’t deserve, and sure as Hell, he doesn’t deserve someone like you in his life. Cas is Cas, and Cas will find someone better than you, and God, why is this so painful?  
So, now what?  
 _Stop him, you asshole!_  
And then he’s gone, back to his friends.  
You should leave.  
You should get drunk.  
   
You fall on the couch like a dead body. You’re exhausted. You look up at the ceiling of your apartment and sighs. You run a hand through your hair. The evening didn’t go as you expected.  
Your phone lights up. Gabe’s calling you. You sigh and then pick up.  
“Gabriel we separated twenty minutes ago.”  
“I’m going to change number right now. I’ll text you once I got it.”  
“What- why? What happened?” you ask, even though you know the answer. And your stomach twists as usual. There a few seconds of silence, then Gabe sighs.  
“Michael called me. I don’t know how he got my number, but he did. Actually, I’d feel better if you changed your number too. You know, just to be sure.  
“Jesus. I can’t believe he hasn’t given up yet.”  
“Cassie, you know him. I don’t think our douche-brother will ever give up. He’s a control freak.”  
“Okay but it has been years. Like, literally five years since the last time.”  
“I know.”  
“Are you okay?”  
“Yeah, I mean. He called me with a private number, so when I picked up he said something like ‘I’m coming for you’ or some apocalyptic shit, and then I hanged up.”  
“Do you want me to come there?”  
“Nah, I’m fine.” Cas looks toward the door.  
“You know what, I’m not tired at all and I don’t have anything to do. I’ll be there in about 10 minutes.” You can literally feel his smile.  
“Thanks Cassie.”  
“No problem.”  
On the way there you stop to a 24/7 grocery shop and get all the candies and chocolate you can carry, and a small pie. When he opens the door of his apartment he immediately smiles.  
“Oh Cassie! You’re spoiling me!” he grabs the bags, and you huff a laugh.  
“Gabriel what the hell are you wearing?” he looks down to his clothes. He’s wearing a pastel pink tank top with green aliens and a pair or light-blue sweatpants.  
“It’s not like I’m going anywhere, Cassie. I can wear whatever I want. It’s a free world.”  
“Good point.” Gabe hops on the couch in front of the tv and immediately starts eating a bag of super sugary candies. “You will get a toothache.”  
“No way. I don’t get toothaches.” He sticks a hand of basically pure sugar in his mouth and then smiles at you, with green teeth.  
“You’re disgusting.” You say, taking a pack of six beers from his fridge.  
“I know.” You sit near him, looking up at the television.  
“Football? Gabe you hate football.”  
“You sat on the remote, you dumbass. I was watching The Cake Boss.”  
“Oh.” And the remote is actually under your ass, so you change the channel back to The Cake Boss.  
“So. Gimme the details.”  
“What?”  
“Dean ‘I got the most fuckable ass in the world’ Winchester. He disappeared before at the gallery, great job by the way, and you looked miserable for the rest of the evening.”  
“Oh. That. Uhm. Can we not-  
“Oh my _Jesus fucking Christ!_ Did you guys break up?” you sip your beer, staring straight in front of you.  
“To break we should have been together before.”  
“That was angsty.”  
“I know.”  
“Okay, but _what happened?”_ he leans into your personal space, curious.  
“We, uhm, we had a fight.”  
“About what?”  
“I told you about the panic attack, right? I asked him if he was alright, and he clearly lied to me. And I pointed it out, and he freaked out. He said that- he said that he didn’t want my help, and that I didn’t have the right to ask in first place because we are not- _were_ not boyfriends or whatever, and I just, I don’t know.”  
“Jesus.”  
“I just left him there. He didn’t even try to stop me, I don’t know.”  
“God, what a piece of shit.”  
“I don’t understand, I really don’t. I thought, I thought that maybe he cared about me.” You say quietly, looking away.  
“Cassie is not your fault, okay?”  
“No, it’s not- it’s not that simple, okay? I _know_ that he’s hiding something, something bad. He’s not okay, Gabe, there’s something wrong in all of this. The scars, and the panic attack, and I just… I don’t have any fucking idea. But he won’t ask for help, because he’s too proud, or maybe he feels like he doesn’t _deserve_ it, I don’t know.”  
“Castiel you can’t do anything for him. Some people are just…too damaged.” You drink, leaning in the couch. “Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about whatever happened to him. Maybe he’s scared. In any case, there’s literally nothing else you could do.”  
“I still feel pretty shitty.” Gabe hands you a bar of chocolate and you take it without hesitating. “What about you?”  
“Nah, I’m fine, really. It was just a call. It didn’t even last for twenty seconds.”  
“We should press charges.”  
“I don’t wanna see his homophobic ass ever again, Cassie. Not his, nor our parents’. Really. Not even in a tribunal.”  
“I know but if he found your number he can also find _you.”_  
“Look, I’m not doing this. You can if you want, but I won’t get any closer to that family ever again.” You know. You understand. He sighs, then smiles. “Oh well. We might as well get drunk now.”  
“Good plan.”  
   
“Hey handsome.” You turn to look at the girl that approached you. She’s pretty, with long black hair and dark eyes, in a short black dress and a smirk on her red lips. “I’m Ruby.”  
Your eyes fall on her neckline.  
“Well, hello Ruby. I’m Dean.” you smile, wishing you were more drunk.  
“You wanna dance, Dean?”  
 _No, not really._  
“Yeah, sure.” Maybe getting laid will erase Cas from your mind. You really wish you were more drunk.  
You feel like your head is going to explode, the shitty music to loud, too many people around you. And then there’s this Ruby chick, that keeps grinding on your dick, and you pull her closer, holding her by her hips.  
It’s so different.  
You instinctively look for muscles, and strong arms, and instead you find soft boobs and thin waist.  
Jesus Christ. It’s disappointing.  
“Hey, what do you think we get out of this place and go somewhere more private?” you say, straight in her ear to be heard over the music. She smiles.  
“Follow me, Dean.” you nod, she takes your hand, you follow her out of the club, out in the cold.  
You call a cab, and she tells the address to the driver. The next second her lips are on yours, and you move closer, kissing her back, and she lets you take the control, and her lips are not plump as they should be, and her hair keeps falling in the way and _you don’t like it._  
You should totally stop. Leave her here and get your drunk ass home and go to sleep. But at the same time you really don’t want to deal with nightmares, and Cas’ absence, and everything else.  
So you kiss Ruby back, and pretend you are enjoying it.  
And then the ride is over, and she’s dragging you out of the cab, she opens the entrance of building, you have no idea of where the fuck you are. Then there’s the elevator, you push her against the wall, kiss her neck, biting the soft spot under her jaw –not a strong jaw. No stubble.  
 _You’re pathetic._  
Then the elevator stops, and she drags you along through the hallway, and stops in front of the door of one the apartments. Then you’re in. Ruby presses you against the door, rubbing against you dick. You wish you were hard.  
 _Jesus._  
“Do you want a drink, Dean?” she asks, her voice low and sensual. You nod, smirking. She smiles and disappears in what you assume is the kitchen. You take a deep breath.  
 _Get your shit together, Winchester._  
She comes back with two glasses of whiskey and hands you one.  
“Cheers.” she says.  
“Cheers.” You don’t even wait, you just empty the glass as fast as you can, welcoming the burning sensation of the alcohol down your throat and in your stomach. She chuckles, you grab her hips, pulling her closer. “Where were we?” she puts both your glasses on a table.  
You kiss her neck as answer, she pushes you against the door again, you bite gently the soft skin of her collarbone, she sighs in your hear. Your head is spinning so fast, your heart racing in your chest. She starts to unbutton your shirt, you unzip her dress. She steps back and lets it slide down her body. She’s hot.  
Why the fuck aren’t you aroused? Not even a bit?  
She takes off your shirt, throwing it somewhere on the floor. The room is spinning. She bites your bottom lips, your vision is blurry.  
There’s something wrong.  
Then you’re on the floor, back pressed against the wall, breathing fast.  
“Fuck.” You look up to meet Ruby’s eyes. The room behind her face is blurry, everything is spinning so  fast. She smiles, the red lipstick all messed up.  
“Just stay calm, Dean.”  
“You drugged me.” You mumble, you can’t even move. All your limbs feel so heavy. “Why?”  
“Sorry, honey. It’s nothing personal.” Then she steps back, picking up her dress from the floor, and leaves.  
“Dean.” you can feel your heart stopping. “You should know better than accepts drinks from strangers.”  
The last thing you see before passing out are a pair of sharp blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment or a kudos to let me know what you guys think!  
> Warnings  
> -Nightmares (rape/non-con, gangbang, sex toys)  
> -Mention of prostitution  
> -Mention of corruption  
> -Self-esteem issues  
> -Alcohol abuse  
> -Kidnapping  
> -Non consensual use of drugs  
> -All in all a mess


	15. My demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!   
> This is a really heavy chapter, so please, PLEASE, read the Warnings at the end and stay safe!  
> Song: My demons by Starset

_I cannot stop this sickness taking over_  
 _It takes control and drags me into nowhere  
I need your help, I can't fight this forever  
I know you're watching,  
I can feel you out there_  
   
When you open your eyes the first thing you notice is that the room has stopped from spinning. Thanks God. It’s a small room, pretty empty except for a table right behind you and a couple of armchairs. The seconds thing is that you’re handcuffed. And that your sitting on a chair, your legs spread and ankles tied to it. Honestly, you’re just happy to have your clothes still on.  
“Finally.” Your head snap in the direction of the voice, and you meet Alastair’s ice-blue eyes.  
 _Shit. Shitshitshit._  
“You have always been a little slow.” He moves closer, caressing your cheek, and it’s almost tender the way he does it.  
“Let me go, son of a bitch.” Alastair grins, running a hand through your hair and pushing your head back.  
“Why? We have some catch up to do, don’t we?”  
“Fuck you.”  
“Sharp tongue. Let’s see what else it can do.” He says, starting to unblock his belt.  
“Are you starting without me?” you turn again, as much as you can at least, and your blood freezes in your vein.  
“Lucifer.” You whisper. He grins, happily.  
“Oh you remember me, how cute.” You tug the handcuffs, that of course don’t move of a single inch. “Oh look Al, he’s trying to escape. _So_ cute.”  
“Let me go!” you scream, your heart racing in your chest.  
“Yes, later, maybe. Before we’re gonna have so much fun.” Lucifer answers, petting your hair. You snap your head as far as possible from his hand.  
“I will show you that you still are my toy, Dean, my slut.” Alastair whispers bending over you so you can stare straight into his eyes. A cold thrill runs down your spine. “And what I will do to you today, it will ten times worse for all the people you care about. Unless, of course, you don’t come back with me.” you feel tears prickling at the side of your eyes, and you swallow them back.  
“Fuck you.” you say, clenching your teeth. Alastair nods.  
“Fine. We’ll do it the hard way. Lucifer.” The next second he’s shoving a gag ball between your lips and closing it behind your head. You groan, trying to glare at them, but you’re terrified. Alastair takes out a knife, which, by the way, it’s the same he had back then.  
 _Please don’t._ Jesus Christ. He rips off your shirt, exposing your chest. You’re in _so_ much troubles.  
“I see my little gifts are still here.” He says proudly, running his cold fingers over the scars. You try to move away, but you can’t. You’re going to throw up, your mind shuts down, there’s room only for the overwhelming panic.  
“My slut.” He whispers, running the knife down on your skin, from the shoulder to the nipple. You groan around the gag, the tears are back, blood runs down your chest. “C’mon, Dean, it’s just a little cut. You have seen worse.” Lucifer behind you chuckles.  
“God, I missed this.”  
“It’s good to be back, right?”  
“Indeed.” Then the knife is back, tracing an X over your heart. It’s frighteningly easy the way the blade cut into your skin -it’s frighteningly familiar.  
And it’s like if you never came out of this. Maybe you didn’t. It’s like being into this all over again, and your mind is numb, the world is spinning again, but this time it’s not because of the drugs. You only see red, the smell of the blood makes you want to puke.  
“My little broken toy.”  
“Alastair, why don’t you stop playing and we get to the point? I’m busy a man.” Alastair rolls his eyes.  
“What do you have to do?” he asks absently, the blade sliding into your skin once again. You’re going to pass out soon. This is too much. You _want_ to pass out. You taste the bile in the back of your throat.  
 _Please, stop._  
Alastair dips his finger in the blood, at then brings the same finger to his lips, his tongue that cleans it out. He smacks his lips and then _jumps_ at your throat. You barely see the blade slicing the side of your neck, it isn’t _too_ bad, but it’s enough to make you cry out in pain. Then he bites down, and starts sucking. And you know what he’s doing. He has done it so many times.  
You gasp, trying to remember how to breathe, momentarily paralyzed. You feel sick, you have to swallow back the vomit.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“You’re blood is still sweet as it was back then, you know?” he says then, voice low and dangerous.  
“Alastair.” Lucifer calls, annoyed. He rolls his eyes, cleaning away the blood from the corner of his mouth.  
“Move him, then.” Then Lucifer unties the knots at your ankles and drags you out of the chair. He pushes you against a table behind you and bends you over it. You try to kick him, punch him, _something,_ but between he and Alastair there’s not much you can do. It doesn’t stop you from trashing as much as you can, and probably it’s not a smart idea, because Lucifer punches you straight into the face, and then kicks you in the stomach. You groan, leaning against the table.  
Then Alastair rips your pants off.  
 _Please don’t. Please stop._  
You know they won’t stop. You have been here _so many fucking times_.  
You try to not think at how vulnerable you are right now. They could kill you, and nobody would even know. Nobody will ever look for you.  
 _It would still be better than this._  
“What were you thinking, mh?” Alastair growls. “That you could run away from me? You fucking slut.” He slaps your ass, hard enough to make you moan in pain. One time, two, four, seven, you lose count. You close your eyes, Lucifer pulls your head back, forcing you to arch your back, your knees are giving out under you. He removes the gag ball and you suck in air. You were suffocating and you didn’t even realize it.  
“Fuck you.” you manage to say. Lucifer chuckles.  
“Now you will suck my dick like the good slut that you are, right?”  
“Fuck you.” you groan, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.  
“I guess we’ll doing the hard way.” He takes out another gag, a one that will force you to keep your mouth open, like a metal ring. You try to jerk away, but then Alastair forces his way inside you, just like that, and _God_  is _so_ painful.  
This is not supposed to be like this. You shut your eyes closed, your body shaking with burning pain, Alastair grabs your waist, slamming all the way in. You gasp. It makes you feel split in a half, broken and used and dirty.  
Tears runs down your cheeks, he moans in pleasure, Lucifer takes off his own pants.  
 _Please, stop._  
Alastair starts moving - too soon, _too soon-_  you’re shaking, your vision goes blurry, the only thing your mind can register is the pain. Then something is in your mouth, it’s hot, and you force yourself to open your eyes. Lucifer grabs your hair, pushing himself down your throat, triggering your gag reflex. You choke, feeling your lungs burning, but Lucifer just thrusts deeper in your mouth.    
“Swallow.” He orders. But you can’t, you can’t breathe, _you can’t breathe._ Alastair thrusts in you again, even harder, and you’re sure you’re bleeding, you feel like you’re going to die soon. You _hope_ you’re going to die soon. _You need air._  
“You’re worthless, Dean. So fucking broken. So dirty. Did you think you could do something good in your miserable life? You _can’t._ Because you fuck up everything, Dean. You’re bad, you’re _wrong.”_ Alastair grabs your soft dick and starts stroking it, and you don’t even try to jerk away, so overwhelmed, the pain is blinding. And Alastair grips your dick _hard,_ so strong it’s painful, and it feels like it’s going to explode.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
You want to pass out. You want this to stop.  
 _Please stop._  
And you don’t know for how long it goes on, you only know that there are hands on you, they’re cold, and there’s blood, _so much blood,_ there’s the pain, so intense it completely overwhelms you, you want them to stop, _please stop,_ they won’t stop, and there are those words, they feel heavy, because deep inside you _know_ Alastair’s right, because deep inside you feel like you _deserve_ it. Because _this_? You can’t fuck this up. You can’t move. You can’t breathe, you can’t do _anything._  
Then something hot fills you, and cry harder, because Alastair’s cum is inside you, and it’s disgusting, and it makes you feel _so_ dirty and it’s _inside you._ Your cry for help it’s also what pushes Lucifer over the edge, and he pulls back just in time to come all over your face and lips, and you can taste in your own mouth. You puke instantly, Lucifer stepping back just in time, chuckling like the sick bastard he is.  
They let you slide on the floor, drained, tears rolling down your face.  
Alastair takes your face between his fingers, forcing you to stare into his eyes again. You hate it –him, so much. Lucifer takes off the gag, but you still don’t move. You can’t, blood running down between your thighs, your mind empty.  
“Now, remember this, Dean: you’re _mine._ You’re _my_ slut. And you _will_ come back to me, because I’m the only one who understands you, I’m the only one who knows what kind of big fuck-up you are. But if you don’t, if you are _so stupid_ to refuse my offer, then I’ll make everyone you love suffer. All of them. What you have just been through will be _nothing_ in comparison. Do you understand, Dean?” you nod, because you’re too tired to actually do anything else. Alastair nods as well, apparently satisfied.  
“Friday night. Meet me at our old special place at ten.” He stands up, and you look down. “Dean, if you won’t be there, I’ll take measures. It won’t be pretty.” You nod again, closing your eyes. You hear the door of the room closing, and _that’s_ when you pass out.  
   
“Gabe?”  
“Shit, Cassie, we’re so screw-  
“Gabriel, calm down, what happened?”  
“Jesus, I think- I think I _saw_ him- I,I don’t know, I’m not sure, he _looked_ li-  
“Gabriel. Saw _who?”_  
“Michael! Or…or at least I think it was him. I’m not sure, I- I ran away, but he looked a lot like him, and now I’m, I’m, I don’t even know where I’m going, I’m just-  
“Gabe, where are you?” you hear your brother taking a deep breath through the phone. You stand up from your couch, putting on your trenchcoat.  
“I’m- where the fuck am I? I’m near the Hotel.”  
“Okay. Okay why don’t you go there? I can be there in fifteen minutes.”  
“God, what if he followed me?”  
“Gabe, go inside. You’ll be safe. There are guards, if he comes closer, just scream, okay? I’m coming. Call Sam or Dean, okay? I’m coming”  
“Okay, okay. I’m- oh my God, Jesus Christ, hurry up, I’m having a panic attack.”  
   
You open your eyes on the ceiling of a room you don’t know. For three seconds everything is okay, you’re just confused. You sit.  
And the pain hits you like a fucking truck at full speed.  
You groan, looking down at your chest. You’re disgusting, covered in dried blood and cum and sweat.  
 _“Fuck.”_ You moan again, turning your head on the side and throwing up whatever still was in your stomach. You’re shaking, you can’t breathe.  
 _It happened. It really happened._  
You stare at your hands for a full minute, trying to wrap your mind around.  
 _Until Friday._  
Your stomach twists again, your heart pounding fast in your chest. You can’t think, you can’t do anything, and for a second everything goes black, pure terror fills your mind, and there’s no room for anything else.  
 _What were you thinking? That you could leave him? That you could be happy?_  
“Shut the fuck up.” You whisper, at the silence, still feeling those hands all over you.  
 _You’re worthless, Dean. You’re fucked up. You’re just a slut, just a broken toy. Nothing more._  
 _“_ Shut _up!”_  
 _Just look at you._  
But you look up at the ceiling, and take a deep breath. Logically you _know_ this is just your mind playing you, but it won’t stop you from believing it. You need to go away from here. You need to –God you don’t even know what you need.  
 _The Hotel. Safe. Sammy._  
That sounds like a decent plan. _Okay. Do that._  
You stand up, leaning on the table when your knees almost give up on you. Another deep breath, pain shooting up and down your whole body. You can’t stop shaking.  
You look around for your clothes, doing your best to ignore the blood at your feet. It doesn’t work.  
You bend over the table and puke again, your eyes watering, your throat hurts, burns.  
“I’m fine.” You see your boxers and your pants, so you carefully bend over and pick them up. Now, Alastair ripped your shirt. That might be a problem. Also, where the fuck did you phone go?  
For a second you evaluate just sitting on the floor and panic. You just want to do that. Your mind keeps dozing off, slipping back to what happened, and you can’t let that happen, not if you want to survive right now.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
Okay. Phone. Jacket. It was in you jacket. Where is your jacket? You look around, and finally see it, abandoned on the floor near the door.  
The first step burns like Hell. You groan, feeling like shit. Maybe worse. Definitely worse.  
You don’t find your phone, of fucking course.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
You need to go out. Get a cab.  
You press your hand on your chest, taking another deep breath, the air in the room smells like sex. You have to get out.  
You stumble towards the door, and thank all the gods you know when you realize you don’t have to take any stairs and that the exit is _so_ close. You put on your jacket, and slowly get out of the room. Outside it’s so fucking cold, and it looks like it’s morning, you have no idea where you are or what time is it.  
 _Pathetic._  
You can hear the rumble of cars not far from where you are, so you head in that direction, and the pain is so blinding you almost pass out instantly. You force yourself to keep walking. _Just keep walking._  
When you manage to reach the streets and get into a cab, you almost cry of relief.  
The driver looks at you like you look completely like shit, which isn’t far from how you feel. But he doesn’t ask anything and you just tell him the address of the Hotel.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
And your mind keep replaying what happened again and again, driving you insane.  
You just feel you couldn’t feel a damn thing.  
Jesus Christ.  
  _Focus, Dean._  
   
You arrive at the Hotel and basically run in, almost getting hit by a car.  
You take the elevator, that’s painfully slow, and finally reach Sam’s office.  
You find Gabe sitting on one of the armchair wrapped in a blanket and with a bowl on sweet in front of him. Sam is near him, his hands on Gabe’s, and he’s whispering something. You almost feel bad to interrupt, but then Gabe sees you, his gold eyes wide and scared, and you just go in and hug him.  
“Are you okay?”  
“Cas! Yeah I’m- I’m mostly fine. It’s just- yeah I’m fine. Did you see him?”  
“I didn’t pay much attention, but I don’t think there was any car like Michael’s.” he nods, slightly flinching at your brother’s name.  
 “Castiel? What’s going on?” you look up at Sam, that’s staring down at you, arms crossed on his chest. “Who’s Michael? Did he hurt Gabe or something?” you exchange a look with your brother, and he nods slightly.  
“Michael is our older brother, and to answer your question, yes, he did hurt Gabe, many times.”  
“Do I have to call the police?”  
“No, we… I honestly don’t think he will come any close to us. Not really.”  
“Why not? I mean, he doesn’t seem very nice.”  
“We got a restrictive order a while back. He would go in jail, and he can’t afford that. I think  he’s only trying to scare us. Maybe it wasn’t even him.”  
“No, Cassie, I swear to every god I know, it was him.” Gabe mutters. You put a hand on his shoulder, kneeling so you can stare at him straight into his eyes.  
“He can’t touch you.” you say, as calm as possible. He nods, looking down at his candies.  
“Castiel? Can I talk with you for a sec?” Sam asks. You raise an eyebrow, but nod, and follow him out of the room. “Look, I know that you have bigger problems right now, but do you know where Dean is?”  
“No, he and I…we’re not in good terms anymore, I guess.”  
“Oh. _Oh._ What happened? You know what? I don’t want to know, really. I’m sorry if he has been an asshole, it’s a bad time. So, you didn’t see him?”  
“No. Not since last night when he left the gallery.”  
“Did he tell you where he was going?”  
“No, we didn’t leave each other exactly in friendship.”  
“Right. I tried to call him, but he didn’t pick up.”  
“Maybe he’s busy.”  
Maybe he’s with someone. You try to not think about that.  
“Yeah, but he _always_ answers my calls. This is weird, I don’t like it.”  
“He’s probably fine. He’s a grown man, what could happen to him?” Sam snores.  
“You have no idea.” He whispers, running an hand through his long hair.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Sammy?” you both turn. And _there_ Dean is, standing in the middle on the hallway, looking like a complete wreck.  
“Oh fuck, what the hell happened to you, Dean?” Sam immediately reaches his brother, an arm around his waist, holding him up.  
“Dean? Are you okay?” you ask, moving closer. He’s shaking, you realize. And he’s covered in blood, and for some reasons he doesn’t have a shirt on. “Dean.”  
He doesn’t answer, so Sam just drags him inside. Gabe is still sitting on his armchair, surrounded by candies wraps.  
“Winchester?”  
“What the hell is happening today?” Sam mutters, helping Dean to slowly sit on the couch. He groans in pain, frowning.  
“Dean?” Gabe stands too, taking the blanket with him. “What happened?” he asks. You shake your head, you have no fucking idea, and it’s driving you crazy. Sam kneels in front of him, touching his face. He looks on the verge of passing out.  
“Dean? What happened? Jesus Christ.” He opens Dean’s jacket, reveling two large cuts on his chest, covered in dried blood. “Shit. Castiel? Can you get me the first aid kit? It’s under my desk. Dean? Stay awake, okay? It’s okay, you’re safe now, I got you. I got you.” he murmurs. You blink, finally processing what Sam said. Right. First aid kit. Desk.  
You find it and bring it to Sam.  
“I think I’ll have to put stitches.”  
“Do you know how to do that?” Gabriel asks, popping the lollipop out of his mouth.  
“I have more experience that what I’d like to.” He mutters, taking out a needle and a thread. He cleans the wounds, Dean groans, he’s so pale. “Dean? You still with me?”  
“I’m fine.” He moans, and Sam chuckles nervously. “Cas? You there?”  
“Yes, I’m- I’m right here.” You move closer, fighting the impulse to take his hands.  
“Alcohol.” And it’s your turn to laugh hysterically, while you pour a glass of whiskey for him. He takes it and drinks it all in one sip, closing his eyes. “Fuck.”  
“Sorry.” Sam says absently, focused on what he’s doing. And you can’t help but notice how expert his movements look, like he has done this many and many times before.  
 _Jesus Christ._  
You wonder how many times Sam had to patch his brother up.  
You wonder _why_.  
And it might have been hours, or just a few minutes, you’re not sure, but then Sam is done, and he’s putting away the kit, his hands covered in blood. He gives Dean a couple of pain-killers that he swallows with more whiskey, and then he just passes out on the couch.  
Sam sighs, leaning against the couch, still sitting on the floor. He almost runs a hand through his hair, but Gabe stops him before he can get blood all over himself.  
“Thanks.” He whispers.  
“What happened?” you ask, the worry is killing you, you heart is pounding so fast in your chest you’re actually afraid it might jump out. “What was that? Why aren’t you freaking out? Is he gonna be okay? We need to call the police , we need to call an ambulance, he needs an hospital, what-  
“Castiel.”  
“What if his wounds get infected? Oh my God, he’s been attacked, we need to call th-  
“Castiel!” you finally shut your mouth, looking at Sam.  
“He’s gonna be fine. We’ve-” he sighs deeply, looking down. “We’ve been through this many times.”  
“What do you mean? We have to call the police.”  
“No. No, that would be even worse.”  
“How can it be worse? What-  
“Trust me. I, crap, I wish I could tell you what’s happening, but really is not my place to talk about this.”  
“And who’s then?” Gabe asks.  
“Dean’s. Look, he’s gonna be fine. I stitched his cuts, and for now he just needs to rest. When he wakes up, you can talk to him. I really can’t say anything.” You bite your bottom lip, fighting the urge to ask more questions. You take a deep breath, trying to calm down. It’s not working.  
Then Gabe is handing you a glass of whiskey, and you take it with a grateful look.  
   
 _The whip snaps in the air and then hits your back. You bite your lip, holding back a moan._  
 _“Fifty-three.” The numbers keep mixing up in your head. The pain is the only thing that keeps you awake._  
 _“Wrong.” Your heart sinks._  
 _Someone laughs, a tear runs down your cheek._  
 _Another blow._  
 _“One.”_  
   
You open your eyes, snapping to sit down. Immediately the pain hits you again, and you have to bite your lip to not scream.  
“Dean?” you turn, finding Castiel sitting on the floor near the couch. Sam is asleep on the other couch, and Gabe is wrapped in a blanket, his head on Sam’s shoulder, he’s also asleep.  
“Cas?” your voice is hoarse and low.  
“How do you feel?” he whispers.  
“Like shit.” You answer. Someone put a blanket over you, and you pull it up. You’re so cold.  
“What happened?” you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, but you still feel his gaze over you. You shake your head, closing your eyes.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“What are you even doing here? And why Gabriel has a blanket? And why is he sleeping on my brother?”  
“What- it’s, it’s really a long story.” You nod, wanting to ask more but not now.  
Cas stands up and sits back down near you. You move to make him room, shifting the blanket over your shoulders. Cas put an arm around you, and you instinctively lean against him, and it shouldn’t feel this good, really. Cas smells good, and you _know_ you saw him only yesterday, but it feels so much longer, it feels just so _good._  
 _Enjoy it until you can._  
“Cas?”  
“Mh?”  
“I’m- I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. At the gallery.”  
“It’s okay.”  
“No, no it’s not.” You straighten yourself and force yourself to look him in the eyes. “I was wrong. You were right. I’m not- I’m not okay. Jesus, there’s so much shit going on- you have no idea.”  
“Tell me.”  
“Why do you even care so much?” you ask, looking down at your hands. You take a deep breath.  
 _Say it. You know it’s true. You know he deserves better._  
“Cas, I’m not- I can’t let you do this.”  
“What?”  
“I’m not what you deserves. I’m fucked up. I’m worthless. I’m just- I’m just _too_ broken, and you know it. You deserve someone that’s not- you deserve much better than me, Cas.”  
“Dean, what-  
“Can’t you see? I’m poison. People get close to me, they get hurt. I can’t do this to you. I won’t drag anybody in the mud with me, not anymore.”  
“Dean what are you talking about? What is this?” and moving away from him is almost painful, and _it’s wrong._ You close your eyes.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“You know I’m right.”  
“No.” you open your eyes again. Cas takes both your hands, looking at you straight into your eyes. He looks so desperate.  
   
You are desperate.  
This is wrong.  
“No.” you say again. “What you’re saying is bullshit.”  
“Cas-  
“No, let me talk. I have no idea what happened to you. I have no idea how you got those scars, or what happened to you today, or why Sam knows how to put stitches, or why you think you are _too broken._ I literally have no fucking clue.” Dean looks down, biting his lip. You cup his cheek, lifting his face again, and for a second you lose yourself in the green and gold of his eyes. “But I won’t let you do this. I won’t let you go. I refuse to let you go, because you think that you’re not _enough._ Dean, you are _not_ poison, you are _not_ worthless.” You pull him closer, pressing your forehead against his.  
“You are the most selfless person I have ever know, and you’re smart, and you like Vonnegut, and you’d do anything for Sam, and you would give everything you have to help a stranger, and you pretend to be okay so people around you don’t worry, and you’re just _so_ perfect and you don’t even see it.” you close your eyes, your stomach twisted, your hands on his face are shaking. And then you realize that is Dean that’s shaking, not you. “And I need you, Dean. I need you.”  
And there’s still so much you want to say, but you just don’t have the words to say it, and it’s driving you insane, because Dean is _depressed,_ and he thinks he’s _wrong,_ when he’s the most beautiful and perfect human being you have ever met, and you just _love him so much_ that is physically painful, but then Dean kisses you, and it’s desperate, messy, hungry, but it’s all you both need.  
Then he moves back, and looks up at you.  
“Will you tell me, now?” he just nods, chewing his lips.  
   
“And after all that shit, I met Alastair. He used to go to the club were I worked. He offered me a job. He told me it was safe, and he offered me so much money. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. But then I needed money again. And again. And at a certain point I was just working for him full time. I knew it was bad, but I was seventeen and stupid, and desperate. And he looked so in control, you know. Always with his stupid perfect suit, never an extra word or touch, never too much, never enough. He took control of my fucked up life, make me feel like I was doing something good for a while. You know, sex was good, always a one-night thing with strangers. Alastair joined us every once in a while.” He huffs a laugh, nervously playing with his own fingers. “I fell in love with him. And I was stupid enough to think he loved me back. I trusted him with everything I had. Turned out I was wrong.”  
He takes a shaky breath, closing his eyes. And he’s shaking, he’s shaking so bad. You wrap your arms around him, stroking his hair.  
“Dean.” you whisper. “Stay with me, babe.” He nods a couple of time, swallowing hard.  
“Then shit happened, and I found myself bleeding and naked in front of a crown of pervs that were free to do whatever they wanted to me. More than one time, actually. And I- really didn’t want to do it, I really didn’t, but I needed the money, and Alastair paid me _a lot,_ but it was so painful, and I was so shitty all the time, I was like, I just wasn’t, God, he hurt me so much, you have no idea what he did to me. And I couldn’t leave, because, because I was _in love_ with him and he almost killed me a few times, and his friends, he- he drugged me, and _shared_ me with his friends, and _I don’t even know_ what they did to me, because I was drugged, but sometimes, every night, I dream about it, and I just, I just _can’t-_  
“Dean-  
“And he was right about me, you know? He and my Dad both. They have always been right about me. I’m a fuck-up, and I really-  
“Dean!” he bites his lip, closing your eyes.  
“I’m fine.”  
“Oh my God.” He looks down and you kiss him, pulling him as close as possible, the need to comfort him, _protect_ him, is killing you. “You’re shaking.”  
“I’m sorry.” Your heart sinks.  
“No, that’s not- not what I mean, are you cold?”  
“What- no. No, I’m fine.” You nod, running your fingers through his hair. There’s silence for a while, as you try to wrap your mind around everything Dean has said. Everything that happened to him.  
“Eventually, I got enough money to pay off my Dad’s debts, and put Sam through college. But when he came back, he wanted to build this place with me, do something important, but I was just a mess. I told him everything I did, and he told me I had to quit. I think he still feels guilty about it, you know. When I tried to leave Alastair, that didn’t end well. I-I ended up in the hospital. When I was able to walk without passing out every three steps, I went back to his place. He thought I was going to apologize. I shot him.” you flinch, but he’s perfectly calm now. “I looked him in the eyes, and I shot him. Didn’t kill him, though, and he ended up in jail. Then weeks ago, he broke out. And yesterday, yesterday night I was at a club getting drunk, and I went home with a girl, that apparently works for Alastair, because she drugged me, and when I woke up again, he was there. And Lucifer was there too, and they…” he doesn’t finish the phrase, he doesn’t need to, tears filling his eyes again.  
“Jesus Christ, Dean.”  
“He threatened you, Sammy, Gabriel, everybody I know. He’s gonna hurt everybody, unless I go back with him.”  
“You can’t do that.” You say firmly, holding his arm. He flashes you a smile.  
“I can’t even let him hurt any of you, right?”  
“Are you serious?”  
“Do I have a choice?”  
“It’s not- you can’t do that. You _can’t.”_ you tighten the grip on him, pulling him even closer. “Please, Dean.” you want to cry. He wants to cry.  
Honestly you both should just sit on the floor and cry like babies.  
“You deserve better than me anyway.” But before you can even process the phrase, Dean stands up, dragging you with him. “Let’s get drunk.”  
   
“What time is it?” Sam mutters, rubbing his eyes. You tear your eyes away from Dean –he’s sleeping with his head on your lap and your fingers through his hair- and look up at him.  
“Late.” You answer. Out of the window it’s dark, the lights on Manhattan lighting up the night. The City that never sleeps. You never sleep either, perfect match.  
Sam nods, looking down at Gabe, who’s still snoring.  
“What happened to you guys?”  
You really don’t want to start this conversation. But then you look down at Dean, and if he could tell you about everything that happened to him, you sort of have to return the favor. You brush your fingers on his jaw, he sighs.  
“It’s a long story.” You start, shifting uncomfortably. Dean groans lowly, slowly opening his eyes. You smile slightly at him, and he returns it.  
“Our family is pretty dysfunctional.” Sam just stares at you, expectantly. “I guess you can tell from our name that our parents are very religious. They are very strict about what it right and what is wrong. Everything is either black or white. You’re either in or out. Gabe was always out. He was never made to follow the rules, but he tried. God knows if he tried. But there was always something wrong, something missing. Our parents always wanted perfection, and Gabe wasn’t made for that. They were always so mean to him, so angry and pissed. Then the swearing and the insults started. And Gabe would try even harder to not disappoint them, but it still wasn’t enough. I was five, he was seven, when they took the dinner away from him for the first time. Then it started to happened more and more. Sometimes they would lock him up in his room for days, for the stupidest reasons. I hated them. And my brother, Michael, was like them. A control freak. _He_ was perfect. It kept going down, and Gabe was just a mess,m     you know. He was always terrified, basically having a panic attack every time he was in the same room with a member of our family that wasn’t me.”  
“Then when Gabe turned sixteen he came out to our parents as pansexual. They didn’t even know what it means, they only knew it was wrong. I had to take him to the hospital, after my father and Michael tried to punch and kick the _wrongness_ out of him. After that, beating and abuse were usual. And Gabe never rebelled, because he was terrified. Then it was my turn to come out as gay. That didn’t end well either. It was Gabe’s turn to take me to the hospital for the same reason. It was hell. Gabe was a mess, I was a mess, and we only had each other. As soon as Gabe turned eighteen we moved out. We literally packed our clothes and left the house in the middle of the night. We took a bus to Boston, rented a small apartment.”  
Dean’s fingers are tracing circles on your arms wrapped around him, and he’s the only thing that keeps you anchored to the ground.  
“It was so different. We were free. We were depressed, and we used to drown it in alcohol and sex. It was fine for a while. Gabe started working, he never applied for college, but helped me with mine. I wanted to study art, something I could never do when I lived with my parents, and for some miracle I got in. It wasn’t easy, we both worked a lot to support ourselves and each other, and we still had to deal with what our parents and Michael did to us. But eventually it got better.” You take a deep breath, looking up. You realize Gabe woke up at some point, and now he’s just staring at you, with a small smile, curled up against Sam’s side.  
“Then eventually Michael found us again. He went crazy. He started screaming about him having the right to tell us what to do, what to be, him being in control. He threatened to- to kill us if we didn’t go back with him.” you smile at the memory, locking eyes with Gabriel. “Gabe slapped him with a dildo and I tied him to the bed with leather handcuffs. We left Boston the same night, and we moved here. We got the restrain order against our whole family after what happened in Boston. We haven’t seen any of them since then, from what we know Michael could still be handcuffed to that bed.” Gabe chuckles. “If Gabe’s right, then Michael is here, and he’s looking for us. And I really really don’t want to see his face ever again.”   
“He can’t come closer.” Dean says, trying to reassure you. “We’ll kick his ass, right Sammy?”  
“Damn right.” His brother agrees, pulling Gabe closer and leaving a kiss on the top of his head.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment or a kudos to let me know what you think of this chapter!  
> Warnings:  
> -Graphic description of rape  
> -Graphic description of violence  
> -Blood/Blood drinking  
> -Mention of prostitution  
> -Mention of child abuse  
> -Mention of underage  
> -Non consensual use of drugs  
> -Self-esteem issues  
> -Panic attacks
> 
> Not a nice chapter, guys.


	16. You're worth it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys, guess who's back?  
> This -and actually most of the chapters remaining- is pretty heavy, not as much as the one before, but still. Please read the Warnings at the end and leave a kudos or a comment!  
> Song: You're worth it by Cimorelli

_You’re not your pain, you’re not your past_  
 _Your scars will never hold you back_  
 _There’s so much that you’ve been through that nobody knows_  
 _So many things you never show_  
   
 _When will you realize_  
 _Baby, you’re worth it._  
   
You wake up with Dean still on top of you. You’re puzzled for a second, there’s only his peaceful expression, the sun that kisses his blond hair, the freckles on his cheeks standing out. For a few seconds it’s just this, and then your mind provides you with everything that happened last night, in vivid details.  
You look down to his shoulders, to the white scars, and then lower to his chest, where Sam patched him up. You look around, but you don’t see neither Sam or Gabriel. They must have already left.  
“Hey Dean.” you whisper, running your fingers up and down his arm. He groans. “Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”  
“Fuck you.” you chuckle, watching Dean opening his eyes, the sun that finally hits the green, bringing out the gold.  
“C’mon I’ll take you out for breakfast.”  
“Comfy.” He mutters, rubbing his cheek on your chest. You stroke his hair, smiling softly.  
“Don’t you want food?”  
“What kind of food?” he asks suspiciously.  
“Pancakes? Pie? Maybe even icecream.”  
“Sold.” He says, pulling away the blankets in a second, and snapping to sit down. Then he frowns, letting out a pained moan. He lifts a hand to his chest.  
“Dean? Are you okay?” he bites his bottom lips, he’s pale like a ghost.  
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I just moved too fast.”  
“Perhaps we should stay here. We can have breakfast in the restaurant.”  
“No, no I’m fine.” He says, standing up. He flinches, another groan of pain that leaves his mouth, as he almost falls over. You jump on your feet too, gently holding his arm. Dean holds on to you, lifting a hand to cover his mouth, like he’s about to puke.  
“We’re staying home.” You say softly.  
“I need a shower.” It’s all he says.  
   
You go back to your room, and Cas fills the bathtub. You know you look like shit, but when you glance up at the mirror you freeze. Your lips are swollen, a dark bruise on your cheek where Lucifer hit you yesterday. And there’s stained blood on your face and through your hair, that is sticking up in all directions. Your eyes are glassy, and you look greenish. Suddenly you feel bad for Cas, who’s the one that has to look at you. You’re gonna puke again.  
You flinch when someone lands a hand on your back. You turn and slap the hand away, acting on pure instinct. You regret it immediately when you see the surprise on Cas’ face, and _of course_ it’s Cas and not Alastair. Jesus fucking Christ.  
“Shit- I’m sorry.” You say, biting your lips.  
“It’s okay, Dean. I won’t touch you again.”  
“No! That’s not- that’s not what I meant, it was just, for a second I thought it was- I thought it was _him,_ I just, just-  
“Dean?” he says, you shut your mouth, closing your eyes, and taking a deep breath “Do you want me to leave?” you shake your head, being alone it’s the last thing you want right now.  
“Stay.” You whisper. Cas nods, smiling a bit. He looks straight in your eyes, while he undoes your pants.  
“You okay?” you realize you’re shaking. You nod, your voice stuck in the back of your throat.  
He strips you out of your clothes and you briefly glance down and you see _them._ Bruises. Hand-shaped all around your dick. Oh God, _God._  
Then you’re puking again in the toilet, vomiting even your soul, shaking, your throat on fire.  
 _Oh God. God, shit, fuck._  
Cas runs his hands through your hair, and up and down your back. It helps slightly.  
He left bruises on your dick. You didn’t even think it was possible. You’re so fucked. You know they’re all over your ass too.  
“It’s okay Dean, it’s over, it’s okay, I got you. I got you.”  
Eventually your stomach is so empty that you physically have to stop, before vomiting out your guts, and you wash your mouth with cold water. You don’t dare to look up at Cas, your eyes watering. You swallow back the tears.  
“C’mon, let’s get you washed.” You nod, entering in the warm water in the bathtub. It’s nice. Cas sits behind the bathtub, and you lean against the edge. This is nice. It’s fine. You’re fine. You hug yourself, pulling your legs to your chest.  
You close your eyes again. Cas starts to clean you up, taking the shampoo and starting to wash your hair. It’s relaxing. His hands wander down, to your back. You flinch, biting your lip, trying to not freak out.  
This is Cas. Cas is okay. Cas is safe. _You’re safe_.  
You take a deep breath. Cas washes away the soap from your hair, water dripping down on your face. You focus on Cas’ warm and gentle fingers, so different from Alastair’s. Cas always touches you like you’re something important, even when you’re in a scene. Cas always touches you like you matter, not like you’re just a piece of meat.  
“Sh, it’s okay, Dean, you’re going be okay.” You’re genuinely confused for a second, then you realize how bad you’re shaking, your teeth are clattering, and you turn to face him. You want to say something –everything sounds so stupid.  
“I’m sorry.” It’s all you say in the end, turning away again.  
 _“_ It’s not your fault, Dean. We’ll figure this out, I won’t let him touch you again, I won’t let him hurt you ever again.”  
You want to believe him –you can’t. You won’t get your hopes up, you know how this end. You know what will happen Friday. You put up a small smile, nodding. Lying is always so easy –lying to Cas is never easy.  
“I know.” Cas doesn’t believe you.  
   
In the end you go out to eat. Dean insisted, he didn’t want to stay at the Hotel, he’s restless. He hasn’t stopped moving since the bath. Right now you’re sitting on a bench in Central Park, he’s wrapped in his leather jacket, you in your trenchcoat, his legs bouncing on the ground, his eyes keep looking around.  
He’s tense, on guard. It makes you feel sick, the way he’s waiting for an attack. He hasn’t even touched his hamburger yet, but he has drunk both his and your beer, a cigarette between his fingers.  
“You should eat.” You say. He flinches, briefly glancing at you.  
“I’m not really hungry.” you bite your lip.  
“At least stop drinking and smoking at the same time.” He turns to face you, then drops the cigarette on the ground and steps on it.  
“Better?” he says, rolling his eyes. You nod. “You wanna go ice-skating?” he asks, breaking the silence that settled between the two of you.  
“I don’t know how to do that.” The angle of his mouth quirks up.  
“I’ll teach you.” you smile back.  
“Fine.”  
You throw away the trash –Dean hasn’t touched his hamburger - and start walking. It’s really cold outside, Dean’s nose and cheeks are flushed, the pink that brings out the freckles. You smile, feeling warm inside, because that’s what beauty does, it warms you.  
“Castiel Novak.” You stumble over your feet, and Dean grabs your arm before you can fall over.  
“Fuck.” He curses. “You okay?” you ignore him, turning over.  
“Michael.” Dean’s eyes snap on the person standing ten feet from you. He hasn’t changed. His hair are still dark and perfectly arranged, his eyes the same bright blue of your own. He’s slightly taller than you, he’s wearing an ocean blue suit white a white button-down. Everything is so precise and impeccable about him. It makes you want to punch him straight into his beautiful face.  
“Is that your brother?” Dean snaps you out of your mind, blood boiling in your veins.  
“Yes.” You say through your teeth. Dean nods.  
“I think you should leave.” He says, looking at Michael. He doesn’t look impressed at all. He raises an eyebrow, eyeing Dean with a disgusted face.  
“And you are?” he asks, annoyed. It pisses the shit out of you. Dean grabs your hand when he sees you moving toward him, you don’t know if to punch him or kick him.  
“The guy that will punch you if you don’t leave him alone right now.”  
“I see. Castiel’s latest toy.” Dean shivers near you, stepping back. Michael grins triumphant, you tighten he grip on Dean’s hand.   
“Dean?” he looks down, he’s shaking again, and nods.  
“I’m- I’m fine. Let’s go away.” You nod, and Dean is already turning, but then Michael calls you again.  
“When will you stop running away?”  
“When you’ll stop following us.”  
“Come back home.”  
Ridiculous. Is he serious? He’s serious. God, he’s so fucked up. All this is so fucked up.  
“Excuse me?” you ask, facing him. Michael nods, hands in his pocket.  
“Come home, you and Gabriel. We can cure you. We can start over. I’ll help you to go back on God’s path.”  
“Bullshit.” Dean groans. You just blink, actually confused.  
“Are you kidding, right?” you snore. “ _Fuck you,_ Michael. I don’t need to be _cured._ I’m not fucking sick, do you hear me, you psycho? ‘Come home’- _fuck you Michael.”_  you turn again and start walking, dragging Dean with you.  
“Is it because of _him?_ Because Dean Winchester is not what will make you happy. And Samuel Winchester won’t make Gabriel happy either. You both are sick, but I can cure you. What you are doing is wrong. You’re wrong, Castiel. Come home, and maybe you’ll be saved. I’ll fix both of you. Dean Winchester is wrong, and worthless. I know him. I know what he has done. He’s a _slut,_ Castiel. He’s broken. He won’t make you happy.”  
You throw the first punch.  
“What _the fuck_ did you just say?” you ask, your voice dangerously low. Dean stares at you with wide, green eyes, but all your attention is reserved to the piece of shit in front of you. Michael touches his jaw, where will be a bruise pretty soon. Your knuckles hurt, but _God_ it was so worth it. He looks shocked, then angry. You never stood up to him, not like this. You never hurt him. God you never hurt _anybody._  
“How dare you?” he whispers. Then looks up. “How dare _you_ hitting me, Castiel? _I’m_ the one in charge! _I_ have the control! You must obey _me!”_ you step closer to him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer. When you speak, your voice is cold and distant.  
“You are not in control on _anything,_ Michael. You definitely are _not_ controlling my life. I don’t care about who you think you are, I don’t care about _you._ But if you ever, _ever,_ come closer to me or Gabriel or any of us again, I swear to your God, I will break each and single bone in your body. And I’ll make it as painful as possible. Do you understand?”  
Michael hits you straight on the nose, and the next thing you know, you are rolling on the ground, throwing punches and kicks. It’s messy, and you’re so angry, Michael is strong, but you’re stronger. Then he pushes you and stands up, stumbling for a second, and starts shouting again.  
“You’ll always be wrong, Castiel! You’ll go the Hell, it’s what you deserve for being such a giant _mistake!_ And I will-” and then Dean punches him again, harder than what you did, and Michael just fall over and simply passes out. You stare at him for a second, panting, then look up at Dean, that’s glaring at your brother.  
When he turns to look at you, you stare back. And for few seconds it’s just the two of you staring at each other, and then Dean cracks a smile, and then breaks into a proper laugh, and it’s been so long since the last time you heard him laugh –less than two days really, it feels like years- that all you can do is starting to laugh too, and suddenly both of you are rolling on the ground.  
“Oh my God, was he serious?” Dean asks after he’s caught his breath. You nod slightly, stumbling a bit when you stand up.  
“Afraid so.” Dean is still on the ground, laying one the thin layer of snow that covers Central Parks. He chuckles again, closing his eyes.  
“No offense, Cas, but he’s fucking ridiculous.”  
“No offense taken.” You say. “C’mon, let’s go before he wakes up.”  
“Should we call the police?”  
“I think I learnt his lesson.”  
“Great.” Dean stands up too, cleaning the snow from his clothes. You take his hand, and he smiles looking down at you. You start walking, doing your best to avoid looking back at Michael. You really hope you won’t have to see his face anytime soon.  
“That was impressive, by the way. And hot.” Dean chuckles again.  
“Do you like watching me kicking the bad guy’s ass, Cas?”  
“I guess you can say that, yes.” And it’s true, that was really impressive. Dean is strong. Dean is powerful. God, Dean is dangerous. And it shouldn’t turn you on that much, but your mind is already trailing off, thinking about how good fucking him right now would be, having him tied down and at your mercy, deprived of his strength.  
Dean stops and smashes your mouth together, and you can taste the beer and the smoke of the cigarette from before. It’s addicting. Everything about this man is addicting. You lick your way into his mouth, and behind those flavors there’s the one that’s only _Dean._ You don’t know how to describe it, but you know how you would paint it. It would be dark green, and deep red, black and maybe a bit of gold. Dean is a drug, and you’re helplessly addicted.  
“Mine.” You growl on his lips, and he moans, which definitely doesn’t help the situation raising in your pants.  
Sometimes he makes you feel like a teenager, just popping boners here and there.  
“Let’s go home.” You say, and he nods, gasping when you move away from him. He immediately takes your hand, and you smile at him.  
   
The second you close the door of your room, Castiel presses you against the door, his fingers gently caressing your hips under your clothes. You cup his face, pulling him closer, breathing in his scent. Cas always smells so good. Like cinnamon.  
You start undoing his shirt, ripping off his ugly trenchcoat and the shirt. He kisses his way to your neck, gently nipping the soft skin, taking off your jacket and the flannel. You push him toward the bed, and climb on top of him. You bite his neck, leaving a bright red mark, and make your way down on his chest.  
You pinch at his nipple with two fingers, taste the other with your lips, and lick it, smirking when you hear Cas gasping. He lifts the hem of your shirt, and you freeze for a second. A cold thrill runs down your spine, a moan falls from your mouth.  
 _Cas. This is Cas._  
You nod at yourself, looking up at Cas. He’s staring at you, wide blue eyes full of concern.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
You take off the shirt yourself, swallowing hard and smashing your mouth together again, before he can say anything. You press down on him, running your hands up and down his chest, feeling the warm skin under your palms.  
You restart from where you left off, leaving red hickeys all over his chest and stomach, palming the evident erection from over his pants. You quickly unbuckle his belt and take off the pants, throwing them away somewhere on the floor.  
You mouth the outline of Cas’ dick from over the boxer, tracing circles on his sharp hipbones.  
“Dean.” he moans, his hand buried in your hair. You grin. You look up at him, licking your lips and slowly sliding off his boxer too. You pump his cock  a couple of times, leave a kiss on the top, and then down on the side. He’s already fully hard, makes you proud, really.  
You go back to the head and twist your tongue, barely taking it between your lips. You like seeing Cas struggling. He tugs at your hair a little bit, still managing to glare at you. You smirk, and then finally take him in your mouth, and he moans out loud –you love when you make him moan, it’s the most satisfying thing ever.  
You relax your throat, taking it deep down, until your nose is buried through the dark hairs. You massage his balls with one hand, sliding your tongue all over his dick. Cas is hot and heavy on your tongue, and it feels so damn good. You swallow a couple of times around the head, repeatedly licking the sensitive part under it.  
Cas moans again, and you look up at him. Cas is beautiful when he’s like this –actually he’s beautiful _always_ , but this is not the time to be romantic. He stares back at you from down the lowered eyelids, his blue eyes shining with pleasure and full of _hunger._  
An image flashes through your mind, and you shut your eyes closed, gagging. You pull back, pushing Alastair out of your mind –he was looking at you the same Castiel is doing right now- and force yourself to concentrate on the present. A thread of saliva runs down your chin, and you swallow hard, pumping his dick again. You force all the thoughts out of your head, and take him down your throat again. It doesn’t take you much longer, you use all the trick you learnt in years of experience –you don’t even want to think _where_ you get all that experience. Then Cas is coming, and his cock is still buried deep in your mouth that you don’t even get to taste it, you just swallow it all reflexively.  
“Already done, Cas? You’re getting old.” You joke, giving him a playful smirk, your voice hoarse and low. He growls, and switches positions, so now you’re pinned under him, and Cas is biting your lip. You moan in his mouth when he pulls your hair, forcing your head back and making you arch your back. Cas runs his fingers on your side, grabbing your ass from over your jeans. You freeze again. You hope Cas didn’t note it.  
But of course he does, because this is _Cas,_ and Cas always notices everything.  
“Dean?”  
“’m fine.” You pant, pulling him down again.  
 _Fine. You’re fine._  
He kisses you slower this time, not pulling your hair anymore, his hands wandering around your chest, over the bandages. He kiss your neck, and you relax again –you didn’t even realize how tense you were. Then he kisses one of the scar, then another, and another, and suddenly he’s kissing each one of them, tracing it with his finger. Your heart skips a couple of beat, breath caught in your throat, his lips barely brushing your skin.  
You look down at him, but he’s completely focused on what he’s doing, and your mouth falls open.  
Your stomach twists, your skin on fire where he touches and kisses you. This is too personal. This is too intimate. This is _too much_.  
“Cas.” You whisper, and you feel your eyes filling with tears. And why the fuck are you crying now, _get your shit together, goddammit_.  
“Beautiful.” He whispers. You actually whimper, closing your eyes, because you can’t take this. This is different from what you have ever had with him. Suddenly, this is not _just sex_ anymore- it hasn’t been for a long time and you pretended you didn’t notice.  
“Perfect.” He adds, and there’s more he wants to say, you can tell from how he keeps opening his lips to say something, and then choosing against it. He won’t say it, but you can _feel_ it. You can feel it in each kiss, each touch, each breath.  
It makes you feel so good and bad at the same time.  
“Cas. Cas, please.” You don’t even know what you’re pleading for. Please stop? Please don’t? Please stay? Please leave? You don’t know.  
Then he undoes your jeans and take them off with your boxer. You tell yourself you shiver because of the cold. Cas lips keeps moving south, his hands steady on your hips.  
 _No._  
He wraps one hand around your dick, and you cry out, his other hand tracing your perineum. God. You almost throw up when you see the bruises of your dick. There, right _there_. You gasp when your mind slips back to what happened only yesterday, and the hands on your body now are rough, and _wrong,_ and there’s pain.  
Only that there is no pain.  
 _No, no, this is Cas._  
You feel like standing on the edge of a very _very_ tall building, looking down straight to the ground. And you’re slowly leaning out.  
You try to ignore the phantom pain, focusing on how good Cas lips feel on your cock, he looks up at you, a mute question in his eyes. You nod. You’re fine, you’re _fine._  
 _Focus, Dean._  
You bury one hand in his hair, trying to not look at your cock –the bruises are there, the bruises are _right there._ God fucking dammit.  
Why can’t you just forget it all, you just want to forget it all and enjoy fucking Cas sucking you off, but you can’t, because the phantom pain is still there, and Cas’ hands keep switching with Alastair’s and you’re just _so_ fucked up.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“Dean, are-  
“Don’t stop.” You gasp. “Please don’t stop.”  
 _Pathetic._  
Cas bites his lips and then nods. He reaches for the lube in the drawer, and you feel a cold finger pressed against your hole, Cas’ hot mouth around your dick.  
You can do this, you can’t –you have to. You _need_ to.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
When Cas pushes the first finger inside you, you bite your hand to not scream. Your cock hurts, your ass hurts, everything just _hurts._  
“Dean-“ he tries again, you tug his hair.  
“ _Don’t stop.”_  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“Dean? Dean, are you okay?” you feel yourself nodding, shutting your eyes tight -you’re lost, so lost. You hold on to Cas, rocking back on his finger, because you _have_ to do this, you won’t let Alastair ruin the best thing you have. You won’t let him get between you and Cas and the fucking sex. You can’t let that happen, or you’ll just break apart. “Dean.” he withdraws his hand.  
“No, Cas, please, please-” he pulls you up, and you let him do it, you let him do it whatever he wants. You need Cas to fuck you, to use you like everybody else, you need for your chest to stop hurting so bad.  
“No, Dean, shh, I got you.” you finally open your eyes, and meet Cas’ blue eyes piercing through your soul. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I got you.”  
“Please, Cas, need it, I need it-”  
The voices overlap in your head, flashback keeps popping in front of your eyes.  
Suddenly you can’t breathe, you can’t move, and pain runs through your body.  
 “Cas, _Cas,_ please, please…” he nods, kissing your forehead, your eyelids, your nose, your mouth, your jaw, and his lips and fingers are so gentle that it makes you want to run away.  
Cas kisses your collarbone, his other hand tracing your profile, nipping at your bottom lip.  
“Gorgeous.” He whispers. You snap your eyes open, staring at the deep blue, so intense, you know he can read you like an open book, you know he can see straight into you.  
You know he can see how _dirty_ you are.  
You can’t talk anymore, it feels like your voice is gone. Cas’ hands keep stroking your back, his lips pressed against your ear, whispering words you can’t quite understand. Not really. Everything’s a blur, the only thing you’re sure of is those hands on you.  
Hands that are everywhere.  
You close your eyes again.  
“Cas. Cas, Cas, Cas-” you say it like a mantra, like you’re praying.  
“I’m right here, Dean, I got you.”  
 _Focus, Dean._  
 _This is Cas. Cas is safe. You’re safe. Cas is safe. You’re safe._  
You kiss him, desperate to convince yourself that this is Cas, that is not Alastair the one holding you close, that you want this, you need this, need him.  
It doesn’t help, irrational fear filling your head, all your muscles tensed. Pain that’s not really there keeps rushing through your body. This feels wrong and right, so good and so bad at the same time. It’s tearing you apart. Your mind at war with itself. You feel shattered, split in a half.    
Cas’ hands are cold on your hot skin. The scars burn, the wound hurts. Everything hurts. It’s too much.  
“Dean.” he breaks the kiss, pulling back. “Dean, please, stop.”  He whispers, cupping your cheek.  
 _Not even Cas wants you._ You meet his eyes. _Too dirty._  
Then you’re in the bathroom, and you’re puking your guts out, crying and shaking. Cas, behind you, pulls your hair away from your face, babbling words that you don’t hear.  
   
Dean fell asleep. You didn’t, you couldn’t. Not after what happened.  
Dean is beautiful when he’s sleeping. His face is relaxed, and he looks younger. For a second you pretend everything is okay, you pretend that the man sleeping next to you isn’t broken as he is, and everything is fine. You pretend Alastair isn’t real, and everything was just a bad dream.  
You brush your fingers on his cheeks, on his lips, on his jaw, his shoulders, his arms, the scars.  
Your chest tightens, you just want him to be okay. It physically hurts.  
 _Until Friday._  
Only two more days.  
When Dean wakes up screaming, you hold him until he stops shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a kudos or a comment to let me know what you think!  
> Warnings:  
> -Mention of rape  
> -Mention of violence  
> -Bruises/scars  
> -Puking  
> -Panic attacks  
> -Dean has like no self-esteem at all  
> -Mention of child abuse  
> -Michael being an Asshole  
> -Alcohol abuse  
> -Nightmares  
> -Dean has issues (so many, I don't even know where to start)
> 
> It's a pretty fucked up situation, yeah. Whoops.


	17. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys, I'm back again, we're getting close to the end, I think that after this there will be like-- 4 chapters??   
> Anyway, back to business. Please read the Warnings in the end.  
> Don't forget to leave kudos and comments, they make me really happy.   
> Song: Scars by Boy Epic.

_I’m a story_  
 _I’m a breakup_  
 _Just a hero on a bridge that’s burning down_  
 _Can you see my scars?_  
 _Can you feel my heart?_  
 _This is all of me for all of the world to see._  
   
Dean groans, and you almost have an heart attack. You gaze at his face, he’s covered by a thin layer of sweat, his eyes still closed, but there’s something wrong. He groans again, grabbing an handful of the blanket. He’s having a nightmare, his face distorted in a grimace.  
“No.” he whispers, frowning, turning his head on the other side.  
“Dean?” he doesn’t answer, of course, moaning again. “Dean, wake up.” You say, leaving an hand on his shoulder. He jerks away.  
“Stop.”  
“God, Dean, wake up.” You swallow hard, trying to decide what to do. “Dean?” you call him again, shaking him slightly. His hands are shaking, God, his whole body is shaking. “Dean!”  
He snaps his eyes open, sitting down, breathing hard.  
“Fuck.” He whispers, hugging himself. He closes his eyes. “Focus, Dean. Fucking focus.” He mutters to himself, taking a deep breath. “It wasn’t real.”  
It breaks your heart.  
“You’re fine.” He says to himself, completely oblivious of your presence. You bite your lip.  
“Dean?” he flinches, turning, his eyes snapping open again.  
“Cas?” he asks, voice cracking. You nod, finding it oddly hard to answer, now that you’re looking at him in the eyes, even in the darkness.  
“Yes, yes it’s me.” He takes another deep breath, running a hand through his hair.  
“I’m fine.” You don’t answer, you just slowly slide an arm around his shoulders and pull him into a hug. He stiffens in your arms for a few seconds, and then you feel him breathing in again and melting against your chest. You know he’s forcing himself to not cry. He’s still shaking.  
You run your fingers through his hair and up and down his back, feeling the scars under your fingertips.  
“I’m sorry I woke you.” he whispers. You close your eyes, holding him tighter.  
“I wasn’t sleeping.” You answer. He nods, snugging closer, somehow. “It’s okay, Dean, it was just a nightmare, you’re safe. I got you.” you leave a barely-there kiss on the top of his head. “I got you.”  
He doesn’t answer.   
   
When you wake up again, you just _wake up._ You just open your eyes, and stare at the ceiling. You feel so numb, so empty. And it’s a welcomed sensation after all the emotional rollercoaster you have been through yesterday. You sigh deep, rubbing your eyes to chase away the sleep.  
“Good morning Dean.” you look around, until you find Cas sitting on the couch, with a pencil and a notebook.  
“What are you doing?” you ask, sleepy voice. You close your eyes again, falling back among the pillows and the blankets.  
“I was just…sketching.”  
“What?”  
“Sketching. Drawing.”  
“No, no, I mean, what are your sketching?”  
“Oh, I- well, you actually. I found out that you look rather beautiful when you’re sleeping.”  
You’re not blushing. Pf. Totally _not_ blushing.  
“Creep.” You smirk when _feel_ him rolling his eyes. He puts down the notebook, and moves closer, sitting on the bed near you. “What time is it?”  
“Early.”  
“You didn’t sleep.” It’s not even a question. Cas just shrugs, lifting a hand and running his finger through your hair. You close your eyes again, enjoy Cas’ hands on you.  
“Dean, about last night-  
“No.”  
“I’m sorry, I should-  
“Cas, can we not-  
“I should have stopped. I’m sorry.”  
“I told you to keep going, Cas. No need to apologize.”  
“I just, I just want you to know that- that it’s okay to _not_ be okay. It’s okay to ask for help.” You turn your face, wishing you were somewhere else.  
You really hate this kind of conversation. God, Sam is the emotional one, Dean Winchester _doesn’t do_ chick-flick moments.  
“Yeah, yeah I know, Cas. But I’m fine. I’m fine. No need to worry.”  
He bites his lips, his hand still buried in your hair.  
“We’ll find a solution.” You chuckle drily.  
“Yeah.”  
   
“What the _fuck,_ Gabe?”  
“I’m not-I just- I-  
“Gabe?” Cas takes his brother’s face between his hands. “What happened?” Gabe takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair.  
“Me and Sam were doing some grocery shopping, and when we left the shop this three bodybuilders appeared from nothing and literally just pulled Sam inside a car and left.”  
“ _What?”_ you almost shout, Cas gives you a warning look, but you can’t help, your hands are shaking, panic raising in your chest.  
“I don’t know! I called the police and they’re trying to find him right now but I have no idea what the fuck just happened!”  
“Oh fuck.” You whisper, covering your face with your hands. “I can’t fucking believe it.” Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you ignore it.  
“But why would anyone want to kidnap Sam? It doesn’t make any sense!” Cas says, leaning against the wall. Your phone keeps buzzing, someone’s calling you.  
“I have no idea. We were just doing some grocery, and suddenly they’re pulling him away- everything happened so fast- I-  
“It’s not your fault, Gabe. You couldn’t do anything.”  
“I should-  
“Alastair.” The name slips off of your lips before you can even realize it. Both Cas and Gabe stare at you in silence for a few seconds, puzzled.  
“What?”  
“Jesus.” You mutter, fumbling to take the phone from your pocket. It’s still buzzing, an unsaved number on the screen. You answer.  
“ _Hello, boy.”_  
“Alastair.”  
“ _Smart.”_  
“What did you do to Sam?”  
 _“I see you already figured that one out. Not that it takes a genius.”_  
“What did you do him?”  
 _“He’s fine, relax, pretty. For now, at least.”_ He chuckles, and a cold thrill runs down your spine. You need to take a deep breath before speaking again, hoping your voice won’t shake.  
“What do you mean?”  
“ _See, you could call this my insurance. Hopefully, now that your dear little brother is here with me, you won’t do anything stupid, like calling the police, or take those friends of yours at our little randez-vous Friday night.”_  
“You fucking sadistic bas-  
“ _Oh please, Dean. No need for those bad words. Sam will be fine, I won’t even touch him, unless you give me a reason to do it. Do you understand, boy?”_  
“I swear to God, Alastair, I’ll-  
 _“Do you_ understand _, boy?”_ you swallow hard, biting your tongue to hold back the river of insults that‘s right on the top of said tongue. You hate him. You hate him so much that’s painful.  
“Yes.”  
“ _Good boy. Now, I’ll see you Friday.”_ then he hangs up, not even giving you the time to say something. Not that you would have said something.  
You feel the anger build up in your chest, red dots that flow in front of your eyes.  
You’ll kill him.  
You’ll fucking kill Alastair.  
You can’t even breathe, there isn’t space for anything, expect rage. That’s the only thing that keeps your together.  
But God, Alastair will pay for this.  
“Dean.” Cas’ voice is muffled. You need to keep your shit together. You _can’t_ break down right now.  
“I need air.” You say through your clenched teeth. Cas touches your shoulder, and you slap his hand away. For a second everything stops, Cas’ eyes locked on yours. Then the world starts spinning again, and the nausea is back too and everything is just going to _shit._  
You don’t say anything else, you just storm out of the door and shut it close behind you.  
   
It’s snowing again.  
It’s fucking cold outside, and you forgot your jacket at the Hotel, so you’re only wearing a flannel and a shirt. _Good job Winchester_.  
You keep walking anyway. You don’t even know where you’re going.  
At a certain point you enter in a bar only to get warmer. Not that you would turn down a drink either.  
You fall on the stool, lit up a cigarette and order a few shots.  
   
“Cas!” you flinches, looking up from the notebook you stole this morning.  
“Dean?” you look at him suspiciously, when he stumbles into the room.  
“What’s up, babe?”  
“You’re drunk.”  
“I just had some drinks. Why so sad? Smile, babe, the night is still young! Plus, _I’m_ the one that’s fucked up. Oh well, actually, maybe that’s why you’re not smiling?”  
He falls on the couch, burying his face in the pillow.  
“Do you hate me, Cas?”  
“No, Dean. I don’t hate you.”  
“You’d be the first. Am I getting phil- phyl- _philosophical_ , here? I am. I should- shut up. What do you think, babe?” he asks stumbling on the words.  
“Okay, time to get to bed.”  
“I don’t wanna sleep, Cas. It’s tricky, y’now. There’s this figure, and it’s dark, and the voices…hey Cas how do you get your hair like that? ‘Cause I wan’ it too, y’now. It looks like sex-hair. You have sex-hair.”  
 “Maybe you should have sex.” You answer, helping him on his feet. He leans over, basically letting you carry most of his weight. And Dean Winchester _is not_ a light-weight.  
“Ohh, yeah, I should. Cas, man, I love sex, y’now. But not when he makes me do things, I don’t like that.” You frown.  
“Sit down, Dean.” he nods, dropping himself on the bed, and dragging you down with him. You fall on top of him, and he laughs, running his hand through your hair. His eyes are incredibly green, glassy and distant. There’s a light blush on his cheek, due to the cold and the alcohol probably, makes his freckles stand out perfectly. Jesus, this man is painfully beautiful. Your heart aches, when you touch the bruises on his face. But he smirks, cocky and arrogant even when he’s drunk.  
“You like me.” You smile.  
“I do like you, Dean. A lot.” He smiles back, nodding.  
“Cool.” He smells like whiskey and smoke. “I like you too, Cas.” he looks down, swallowing, and then up to your eyes again. “I’m sorry, Cas.”  
“For what?” his smile cracks up, and suddenly his eyes are full of tears. “Dean?”  
“For not being what you deserve. For not being what _anyone_ wants.”  
“That’s not true.” you caress his face, pressing your forehead against his. He closes his eyes, taking in a shaky breath. “You’re perfect, Dean.” he chuckles.  
“It doesn’t matter anyway.” he closes his eyes, letting his arms fall open. He smiles. “Look Cas, I’m flying.”  
“I think it’s really time for bed. C’mon, take off your pants.”  
“Wow, Cas, always so romantic, but if you insist.” He fumbles with the belt for an entire minute, before just giving up, and laying down while you undo it for him, and then slide his pants off. You cover both of you with the blankets, and immediately Dean snugs close to you, leaning his head on your chest. You smile down at him, running your fingers through his hair, while he throws and arm around your waist.  
“Hey Cas?” he asks once you have turned off the light.  
“Yes?”  
“Do you think that all this shit happened because I’m an ass?”  
“You’re not an ass, Dean.”  
“I am and you know it.”  
“People like my brother are ass, not you, Dean. You’re a very good person, who bad things happened to.”  
“Did you just quote Harry Potter to me?”  
“Possibly.”  
“Damn, Cas, you really know how to get into a man’s pants.”  
“You’d be surprised.”  
“I think I know all your tricks.”  
“You know nothing.”  
“Was that fucking Game of Throne?”  
“Maybe.”  
“Jesus, Cas, when did you became such a nerd?”  
“Charlie forced me to watch all eight movies _and_ the entire show.”  
“Hell yeah.”  
You look down at him, running a hand up and down his back. He already fell asleep, but you know he’ll wake up again soon enough.  
You can’t even remember how your life was before Dean Winchester. Boring, empty, silent, dark. You can’t – _don’t want to_ \- imagine how your life will be once he’s gone. A life without Dean Winchester doesn’t sound worth living.  
You won’t let him go. You can’t.  
Even if you have to kill Alastair yourself.  
   
“What are your nightmares about?”  
“Why do you want to know?” you bring the cigarette to your lips and take a long drag.  
“Talking about them might help.”  
“Why basically you don’t sleep at all?”  
“I asked first.”  
“Alastair.”  
“My father used to wake up me and Gabriel in the middle of the night. And not to share a cup of tea.”  
“My father did that too.” He nods, reaching out to hold your hand. You even put down the bottle of whiskey to accomplish the task. “Man, parents suck dicks.” He chuckles, you grin at him. Out is still snowing from this afternoon, the moon bright in the sky.  
“Dean-  
“Don’t say it.”  
“You can’t go back with Alastair.” You close your eyes, leaning your head back on the bed. Cas holds your hand a little tighter.  
“I don’t think I have a choice, Cas.”  
“You can fight.”  
“I have to protect Sam. And you. And Gabe, and everybody else. This is _my_ mess, I have to deal with it.”  
“But it was never your fault.”  
“It doesn’t matter. It never mattered.”  
“Dean-  
“Please, Cas. Just…it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”  
“You can’t just _let_ him kidnap you, and- and-  
“Cas-  
“ _Rape_ you, Jesus Christ.” You freeze, looking down at the floor. “Shit. I’m sorry, Dean.”  
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” He sighs, then lifts both your hands still tangled together and kisses yours. “Cas.” you hold his gaze, your heart skips a beat.  
“I don’t want you to go.”  He whispers.  
“I have to protect Sam.” You hate how your voice breaks.  
“Please don’t go.”  
“I don’t have a choice.”  
“Call the police.”  
“He’ll hurt Sam. I can’t let that happen.”  
“This is not fair.” He growls, and you can feel the anger behind his words, behind his eyes. “I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.”  
“No.” you say immediately. “That’s _my_ right.” He looks at you, and nods slightly. He kisses your hands one more time, and then drops them on his laps. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this, you know.”  
“It’s not your fault.” You look at his profile –Cas is so damn beautiful. It hurts knowing you won’t see him again.  
You slide into his lap, your hands on your shoulders.  
“Dean?” you kiss him, deeply, working your way between his lips and into his warm mouth. You shiver when he grabs your hips, his fingers flying over your hipbones.  
You realize how much you’ll miss this – _him._  
Fucking shit, this is so fucking fucked up.  
“Cas.” you whisper on his lips, pressing your crotch on his. Both of you are only wearing boxers and your shirts. “I want you to fuck me.” He withdraws a bit, just enough to look at you.  
“Are you sure?”  
“Yeah, I’m sure, Cas.” you say, rolling your eyes.  
“No, I mean, are you okay?”  
“Do I look okay to you?”  
“We don’t have to.”  
“I want to.” You growl, kissing his neck. “I want you.” you bite the soft flesh of his collarbone, suck and the lick over the red marks appearing there. “Please, Cas.”  
Then he flips you over, and suddenly you’re laying down on the bed, Cas between your legs. You hook your ankles behind his back, rubbing against his half hard dick with your own. He immediately takes control over the kiss, sliding his tongue in your mouth as he wants.  
His hands wander under your shirt, and then take it off, only breaking the kiss for a few seconds. You bury your hands in his hair, pulling him as close as possible. He kisses your neck, sucking a couple of red marks, and moving down to your chest. He kisses your scars like he did yesterday, avoiding the cuts. You close your eyes, letting the sensations overwhelm you, until your head is spinning and your cock is hard.  
He smiles on your stomach when you let out a moan. The kind of smile that makes your heart clench.  
Cas finally takes your boxers out of the way, but completely ignore your dick. Instead, he keeps kissing his way down to your asshole, spreading your legs even wider.  
“Wait.” He whispers, stumbling to stand up and take the lube out of the drawer. Cas settles back between your legs, and pours a generous quantity of lube on his fingers. They’re cold when they touch your hot skin again, but you don’t mind. You just want him to go faster, to skip all of this, and just fuck you, because you need him _right now._ But you also know that he won’t hurry up, because this is _Cas._ And Cas won’t hurt you.  
He opens you slow and nice, his fingers scissoring inside you, fucking you until you’re can barely see straight – _ah, good joke_.  
Cas kisses your chest again, your stomach, licks your nipples and bites them gently. You bury your hand in his hair, the other one gripping at the sheets. It’s so fucking hot, and then Cas hits your prostate and for a second everything goes black. You swallow hard, try to get some air in your lungs.  
And then you push him over, rolling until you’re on top of him. You feel incredibly empty when his fingers slide out of you.  
“Dean.” you don’t say anything, briefly kissing him on the lips. You quickly take off his shirt too, eager to touch as much skin as possible. You kiss his neck, his shoulders, his chest. You gently bite his nipple, licking and sucking until you hear him moaning lowly.  
You kiss every inch of skin you can reach, burning in your memory everything about him, about this moment. How his skin feels under your lips, how his body is warm under your fingers, the way he breathes out every time you suck a red mark. You want to remember him exactly like this.  
“Cas. _Cas.”_ you finally look up, while you slide his boxer off. You lick your lips, leaving a kiss on his lips before taking his dick in your hand and lining up with your hole. You both hold your breath when the head touches your ass. Then you slide down, until you’re sitting on his hips.  
You breathe out, closing your eyes and giving yourself a second to adjust.  
“Jesus.” Then you start moving, and you moan, pressing your hands on his chest. You pick a slow pace, you want to make this last as long as possible, you want to remember this for-fucking-ever. Cas thrusts up in synchro with you, his fingers digging into your hips.  
You let out a waterfall of words and moans that don’t really make sense, full of _Cas_ and _yes,_ your voice cracking a little. This is good. This is _right._  
Cas sits up and you let out a loud moan when you finally hit your prostate. Pleasure runs through your whole body, making you shiver and cry out. You lock eyes with Cas, the blue almost completely swallowed by the black, his pink lips swollen and parted, his hands run up your back, and down again, he grabs your ass, spreads your cheeks and now _he’_ s setting the rhythm, speeding up the pace. You run a hand through his hair, throwing back your head.  
Cas pulls you closer, as you move perfectly in time with each other, your chest pressed against his, his arm wrapped around your waist.  
You want this to last forever. Don’t want to go.  
“Cas.”  
“Beautiful.” There’s that word again, barely whispered against your collarbone. It makes the butterflies in your stomach fly like crazy, and your heart races a little bit faster. You bite your lip to hold back something that you might regret.  
“Cas, Cas, please.”  
“Dean.” he growls, thrusting up _hard,_ and making you see the stars.  
 _Don’t let me go._  
He holds you tighter, and you’re not prepared when the orgasms hits you. You almost scream, your untouched – _untouched-_ dick throbbing between your stomachs. Cas keeps thrusting, fucking you through the orgasm, until he comes too, a few seconds later, filling you up. You close your eyes, breathing fast, enjoying the feeling of the endorphins in your body.  
Cas kisses you hungrily and deeply, making you whimper. It’s desperate the way he holds you closer, skin against skin.   
You press your forehead against his, taking his face between your shaking hands.  
 _I love you._  
“I need you.” you say, because you know that otherwise he won’t let you go. He won’t get over you. And you need him to forget you, to go on with his life. You need him to be happy. To have what he deserves.  
You know he knows what you really want to say. And you know he wants to say the same. You also know neither of you will.  
 _I’m sorry, Cas._  
“I won’t leave you.” he says instead. Something breaks inside you.  
You close your eyes.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
   
   
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos and comments!  
> Warnings:  
> -Kidnapping  
> -Alastair being an asshole  
> -Alcohol abuse  
> -Dean being cute and drunk and sad  
> -Mention of violence and rape  
> -Nightmares


	18. Numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, guys!   
> So, this is probably the HEAVIEST shit ever. I'm not even kidding, it's really bad, so please read the Warnings at the end before reading the chapter. Be safe, people.  
> Song: Numb by Linkin Park

_I’ve become so numb, I can’t feel you there_  
 _Become so tired, so much more aware_  
 _I’m becoming this, all I want to do_  
 _Is be more like me and be less like you_  
 _Can’t you see that you’re smothering me,_  
 _Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control?_  
 _‘Cause everything that you thought I would be_  
 _Has fallen apart right in front of you._  
   
You pretend. God, you pretend _so hard._ You pretend everything is fine, you laugh at Dean’s bad jokes, at Gabe’s attempts to lighten up the atmosphere. You laugh and smile, and kiss Dean back every time. You hold his hand, and pull him closer, _closer,_ you touch his skin as much as you can, you breathe his scent, burning it in your memory. You memorize his laugh, the way his eyes shine, and the way he always looks a little sad, even when he’s smiling –you had memorized all of this a long time ago. But still. You want to remember everything. You want to remember the little wrinkles at the side on eyes and mouth, the hickeys on his neck and chest, how his fingers wrap around the glass or how they hold the cigarette. You want to remember _everything_.  
And Dean drinks, and smokes, and laughs, and it’s all _fake._  
He clings at you desperately, and holds you closer, kisses you longer. It’s painful.  
It hurts. It hurts knowing he’ll go back, it hurts not knowing when – _if-_ you’ll see him again.  
“Let me come with you.”  
“Can’t.”  
“Dean.”  
“Cas-  
“I’m coming.” He stares at you a few seconds, than nods.  
“Bossy. I like it.” he winks at you. “But you’re staying in the car.”  
“Fine.”  
Then he’s driving. You left early, and you can see he’s nervous. He literally can’t stay still, tapping his fingers on the wheel, slightly bouncing his head with the music. He’s tense, all his muscles contracted, his eyes constantly looking around, looking for danger. It hurts seeing him like this.  
But you’re helpless, powerless. You can’t do anything to stop this.  
Dean drives out of Manhattan, to Bronx, to a shitty hotel.  
“This is it.” he whispers. Out is already dark. When he turns to face you, you pull him in a kiss. It’s hungry, desperate, and tastes like a goodbye. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, a request to stay.  
“Cas.” he holds on to you like his life depends on it. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. He looks at you, and in the low light you try to see the green of his eyes. You run your thumb on his bottom lip, he parts his lips, and you kiss him again.  
“Do you want me to come in with you?” he shakes his head.  
“I’m good.”  
“Yes. Yes, you’re good.” He closes his eyes for a second, takes a deep breath, and then withdraws. He’s shaking. He smiles at you.  
“I’ll be fine.” You nod, you desperately want to believe it.  
“I’ll find you, Dean. I promise.” He stares at you, silently for a few seconds. Than nods.  
“I’ll wait.” You nod too. He looks at the building, then at you again.  
“When Sam comes out, drive away as fast as possible.” He looks down. “Bye, Cas.”  
“Goodbye, Dean. See you soon.”  
“Yeah…yeah.” He kisses you one last time, your lips pressed together. And then he leaves, without looking back, and walks into the building. You can feel your heart shattering.  
   
“This place hasn’t changed much, mh?”  
“Where’s Sam?” you ask, ignoring him. Alastair is sitting on a red armchair, a glass of something in his hand. He looks relaxed, in control. You hate him. He nods at one of the bodyguards at each side of the door, and a few minutes later, they’re dragging Sam inside the room.  
Relief overwhelms you.  
He looks fine, there’s only a bruise on his left cheek, but he looks _fine._ Thank God.  
“Dean?” you don’t answer, you just hug him, burying the face in the crook of his neck. “What the hell are you doing here, Dean?”  
“It’s fine, Cas is outside. When you’re out, just leave, okay?”  
“Dean? Fuck- did you-  
“Your brother accepted to come back to work with me in exchange for your freedom.” Alastair interrupts, a satisfied grin on his face.  
“You’re kidding. Dean?” he turns at you, big pleading puppy eyes.  
“It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”  
“Fine? _Fuck_ Dean! You can’t! You-  
“Take him outside.” Alastair says, slowly getting up. You hold him tighter and then let him go. Sam fights against the two men that are dragging him away. He keeps calling you, trashing, and you have to turn to not give up. You take a deep breath, finally facing Alastair. You’re alone now.  
The room is shitty as it was back then. The red paint is peeling off the wall, and the floor it’s all kinds of nasty, but the bed is king size, with dark red blankets and about two thousand pillows.  The only light comes from a lamp on the bedside table.  
Alastair moves closer, cupping your cheek with his long, creepy fingers.  
You shiver, forcing yourself to hold still.  
He won. It’s like if something clicks in your mind.  
He _won,_ you’re _his_. And there’s literally nothing you can do, except _be good_ for him, do what he wants, just like years ago.  
“Welcome back, boy.”  
You’re _fine._  
   
The first few days are fine.  
Really nothing more than some slightly rough sex.  
You don’t even see Alastair. Or Lucifer. It’s really not too bad.  
The old guy over you is pretty nasty. Sweaty, flabby, pale skin. Man, he’s really too old for this. You let him spank you, you let him kiss you, you suck his dick, you let him fuck you, moans louder and louder, you let him call you names. You let him do whatever he wants.  
It’s really not too bad. You repeat it to yourself again and again. When he fucks you, your mind flies to Cas, and it’s with his voice in your head that you come when the man wants you to.  
It’s really not too bad.  
   
Then you’re moving. Alastair doesn’t tell you where are you going. But you’re riding a limo, with other five guys. They’re younger than you, maybe one of them is around your age. It wouldn’t be even nice if it wasn’t for Alastair sitting so close to you, one hand resting on your thigh.  
You have no idea how long the drive is, you just keep drinking the vodka that’s in the limo. Alastair’s disgustedly wet  mouth is pressed on your neck, his hot breath on your skin. He slides his hand behind you, squeezing your ass. You flinch, just closing your eyes and forcing yourself to not slap his hand away. But you do slide a little away from him, trying to put some distance between the two of you.  
Being touched by him makes you want to puke your guts out, it raises goosebumps on your skin, your stomach twisted on itself. There’s this feeling that makes you feel uneasy and _so_ uncomfortable, this feeling that _this_ is so wrong, and knowing that you can’t go back makes you want to get drunk until you can’t think anymore.  
You just wish you could stop thinking, feeling, it would make this whole thing much easier.  
Then Alastair takes your jaw between his finger and forces you to look at him in the eyes.  
You tell yourself you’re not scared.  
You tell yourself you’re fine.  
You tell yourself you don’t give a shit.  
“My little slut.” He whispers in your ear. “I will break you.” you can’t help but shiver. He takes something out of his pocket, a little orange bottle. Pills. Drugs. He pops a pill in his mouth and then he kisses you. Before you can process what is happening, he’s pushing the pills through your parted lips, forcing them in your mouth.  
“Swallow like the good whore you are.” You shake your head, because _fuck this_ you won’t take any fucking drug, and you jerk away, trying to spit it out, but Alastair covers both your mouth and nose with his hand, eyes flickering with anger.  
“Swallow.” He hisses. You don’t until your lungs start to burn, until your eyes start to water, and even then, you still try to spit it out. Then you have to give up.  
 _Fuck. Fuck!_  
You swallow hard, and even then Alastair doesn’t remove his hand. He probably won’t until you pass out. But then air is filling your lungs again, and you cough, trying to not die. You take a deep breath, glaring at him.  
He nips at your bottom lip, smiling so coldly that it could freeze the fucking desert.  
“Good whore.”  
Then your head is light, and suddenly the pills don’t sound like a bad idea at all.  
   
Sharp pain hits you when he slaps you again, his eyes shining with anger.  
It’s cold in the room –it’s always cold in there. Wherever _there_ is.  
But your skin is burning, fresh cuts and new bruises all over your body.  
“You’re good to nothing, Dean.” Alastair takes the whip again, and you hold back a whimper. “Just a fuck-up. Always screwing things up.” You close your eyes, just for a second, when the whip hits  you, breaking the skin. You’re covered in blood and sweat. Why are you always covered in blood and sweat?  
“Eyes on me, boy.” You snap your eyes open again, trying to not squirm under his blows.  
It’s fine, you’re fine. You have been through worse.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
   
You meet Lucifer again only a week after you have arrived to your new residence.  
This place is huge, but you have no fucking idea of where you are. Literally nothing. Your room doesn’t have windows, nor do any of the rooms where you and Alastair have your sessions.  
In this precise moment of your miserable life you’re standing in the middle of a room. Said room is like the others you have been in, red walls, red sheets, fancy carpets and furniture. And everything they might need during the session. Literally entire closets full of dildos of any sizes, and kind of whips existent in the world, handcuffs, gags, ropes, whatever.  
You wonder where the hell are you.  
Anyway.  
You feel like your arms are going to come off soon. A man tied your wrists over your head earlier, to an hook in the ceiling, with black ropes. So now you’re hanging there in the middle of the room, gloriously naked, your feet barely touching the floor, a gag shoved in your mouth. A black leather collar tight around your neck.   
 _Oh right._ Lucifer is right behind you, trying to force a giant dildo up your ass. It’s not working. It just hurts. It takes him a few more of violent thrust, each one of them makes you groan, and finally it’s in. You feel impossibly stretched, split in two halves, the dildo buried deep inside you, brushing against your prostate.  
Lucifer hums satisfied.  
“See? It wasn’t too bad.” He says. “Now we have to wait for Al.” he sighs, briefly leaving you to take a sip from the bottle of liquor on the table. You take a deep breath, trying to relax, your whole body shaking. You wish you could drink.  
He stares at you, hunger in his eyes.  
“You do make a pretty picture, Dean.” you don’t say anything, just hold his gaze. He moves closer again, a knife in his hand. You flinch when the cold blade touches your already wounded skin. He raises an eyebrow.  
“Looks like Al had some fun, here.” He says, dragging the knife across the cuts on your chest. You would say something snarky, really, if it wasn’t for the gag. Fuck this.  
He smiles, pressing the blade in your skin, right under your ribs, immediately drawing blood. You force yourself to stay silent. You won’t give him the satisfaction. He doesn’t look impressed. Instead he bring the knife to his lips, his tongue flickering over the blood.  
“I don’t understand why Al likes your blood so much. It’s pretty nasty if you ask me.”  
 _At least we agree on this._  
And then Alastair enters the room, like a demon that has been invocated because Lucifer said his name. He could totally be a demon. Maybe he is, who knows.  
 _You’re going crazy._  
 _Leave me alone._  
“You like to take your sweet time.” Lucifer snarls, rolling his eyes.  
“I had shit to do.” He comes closer to you, eyes lingering over your body. You hate it. You hate when he watches you like this, like you’re his prey. You also hate yourself, but that’s old news.  
 _Why couldn’t I look like shit?_  
You avoid thinking that right now you probably do look like shit.  
“But now I’m here, and we can start out little experiment.” He grins. You don’t like this. At all. “Let’s see how many things we can stuff inside that pretty little ass of yours.” He goes on, cupping your cheek. You flinch.  
“And let’s see how painful we can make it.” Lucifer adds, slapping your cheek. You try to jerk away, it doesn’t work. Alastair grabs your hips, fingers digging down in your skin.  
 _Fuck._  
Maybe it won’t be too bad.  
They move you. The bend you over the table, a spreading bar between your legs. The dildo that’s already inside you it’s honestly enough, you physically can’t take more than that. It’s just not _possible._  
Of course, Alastair proves you wrong, pressing his fingers inside your hole. And you scream now, your scream until you run out of voice, but they don’t stop, they never stop. They laugh instead, trying to force in a monster dildo that clearly won’t fit in there.  
 _Please, stop._  
You wish they had at least used some lube, blood running down between your thighs.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
   
There are too many people. So many. They’re all looking at you, some half naked, most of them entirely. It’s hot in the room. _Too_ many people, closing over you. They all wear black masks, they’re all shouting. Your head is spinning.  
“Harder!”  
“Faster!”  
 _Focus, Dean._  
They’re all far away. Someone is pounding in your ass, a cock ring around your dick. They’re all wearing condoms, _thanks God,_ but still. So many people. And suddenly _two_ men are pounding hard in your ass, you feel impossibly stretched, impossibly full. Someone surround your neck with their hands, right above the collar, cutting out the air from your lungs.  
You’re so hard, and it makes you feel sick. You don’t like this, pain and dark pleasure and fear mixing in your head, you’re overwhelmed. _Too much._  
 _Focus, Dean._  
One of the two men pulls your hair, forcing you to arch your back even more, and both of them slide deeper in you. You close your eyes, struggling to breath. Someone slaps your ass, you barely notice it, your vision is blurry.  
You won’t cry.  
Just when you think you’re going to pass out, the man release the grip, your whole body jerking when air enters your body again. It only lasts a few seconds.  
“Again!” all the voices are far, your mind keep slipping off, briefly blanking out. You absently notice the men behind you switched, now someone else has his dick buried in your body, gripping at your hips.  
Two more out.  
You only have about thirty more to go.  
You won’t make it. It feels like if you don’t come right now you’ll die.  
There’s air again. Then your mouth is filled with a cock. You don’t even have to think, you just start to suck, bobbing your head up and down his length. You don’t feel your hands anymore, tied too tight behind your back.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
The last one is Alastair, and he doesn’t have a condom when he comes all over your destroyed hole.  
Then the cock ring isn’t there anymore, and you’re coming. And it makes you feel sick.  
   
You take a second to look at yourself in the mirror. You’re not sure how long you have been in that place. More than a month for sure.  
You look like shit.  
Your skin is pale, and you lost weight. Your hair is a mess, dark bags under your eyes. And of course, bruises and cuts cover your entire body. You ignore all of them, from the red marks from the whip, to the bites, to the fingermarks on your thighs.  
You turn, trying to avoid your reflection. You open the cabinet, taking out a bottle of whiskey. At least, Alastair made sure you always have alcohol. And pills. But you don’t take those. Even though they make your head much lighter, and this much easier. They’re on the second shelf, near the vodka. Always there, doesn’t matter how many times you throw them away.   
You’re fine, you don’t want them.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
   
You look up at Alastair, he grins coldly at you. You adjust yourself between his legs, struggling to unzip his black pants without your hands, momentarily tied between your back. You just hope to not hit your head on the table over you. The bastard likes being sucked off while he eats. Fan-frigging-tastic. But before you manage to complete your task, he stops you.  
“Sir?” you ask, voice hoarse.  
“I heard you’re not eating much, boy.” You look down, trying to not roll your eyes. _Maybe_ it’s because you’re fucking disgusted by this whole situation, and the simple thought of being touched by him still makes you want to throw up. But that’s just a wild guess.  
“I’m sorry.”  
“I need you with all your energy, Dean. My clients won’t be happy otherwise.”  
“I understand, Sir.”  
“Good. Move here.” You nod, moving away from under the table, flinching slightly when the plug brushes against your prostate. You glare down at your crotch, covered by a silky pair of panties. It’s not even too bad, compared to everything else. You somehow manage to get on your feet without losing your balance, and sit on his lap.  
You bite your lip to hold back a moan, and to not run away when his hand immediately grab your ass. He hooks a finger to your collar and pulls you forward, to meet him in a sloppy, nasty kiss. You hate his taste, his tongue that forces its way in your mouth.  
Then he pushes you back, picking up one of the fried meatball on the plate behind you.  
“Open your mouth for me, Dean.” he whispers. You part your lips, and when he puts the little meatball in front of them, you take in your mouth, making sure to lick his creepy, long fingers, just because you know he’ll like it. He nods apparently satisfied, and you force yourself to swallow without throwing up.  
You don’t like this.  
But the meatballs are pretty good, is this fucking crab?  
The second time you eat the meatball from his hand, he pushes the plug further inside your hole, and you almost choke.  
It doesn’t take long before you’re bent over the table, ass in the air. Alastair spanks you a couple of time just because he can, and then he pulls at the silky material of the panties.  
“What a pretty picture.” You try to not think about the last person you wore panties for.  
You shut your mind down when he starts fucking you hard and rough, your hips slamming against the edge of the table at each thrust, a hand around your neck as usual.  
   
Alastair’s hands slide up and down your back. You don’t even flinch anymore.  
“Breaking you is always so easy.” You don’t say anything, just grind on his crotch. He runs a hand through your hair, pushing your head back to expose your throat. He bites you, hard, breaking the skin. You close your eyes, caressing the back of his head, inviting him to get more.  
It’s not like you give a shit.  
He sucks hard, and when he withdraws, his mouth and chin are dripping blood. He licks his lips, a hungry look in his icy eyes. The way he cups your cheek is almost tender.  
“Always so fragile, aren’t you? So broken. Nobody wants you, Dean. Nobody could ever love you. I’m all you have. All you deserve.” You nod, still not looking in his eyes.  
 _You have Cas._  
You push the thought away. Of course you don’t. Or you wouldn’t be here.  
Alastair takes the little orange bottle from the table.  
“Open your mouth.” You finally look up at his eyes. They’re so different from Cas’. So cold, so full of darkness and hunger. They send a chill down your spine.  
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you think you don’t want those pills. That you should fight. That you need to be as vigilant as possible, that you _can’t let go._  
But then there’s all the pain that runs through your body _constantly,_ and all the voices overlapping in your mind, and you just want them to shut up, you just want to _not feel._  
You open your mouth.  
“Good boy.”  
   
 _Sam is standing right in front of you. And Cas in at his side. And they’re both smiling._  
 _“It’s okay, Dean. It’s over, you’re safe, now.” Sam says, and Cas holds out his hand._  
 _“Dean.” he calls, his voice deep and grave like you remember it._  
 _“What- what happened? Where’s Alastair?”_  
 _“He’s gone, you’re safe, you’re going to be okay.” Cas explains quickly. That’s all you need. You’re still confused, but you missed them so much. You literally throw yourself in Cas’ arms, not even embarrassed when tears roll down your cheeks. And Cas hugs you back, holding you tightly._  
 _He smells like vanilla and something that’s only Cas, your heart beating so fast in your chest, your hands shaking. You look up at Sam, his puppy eyes bright and shining. You drag him in the hug too, pressing yourself against them. This feels good. After months you finally feel good._  
 _“Fuck, I’ve missed you.”_  
 _“We didn’t.” you step back, your hands still on Cas’ shoulders. Your smile vacillates._  
 _“What?”_  
 _“We didn’t miss you at all.” Cas says, coldly._  
 _“Actually, we were better without you.” Sam adds. Your arms fall at your side, your mouth hanging open._  
 _“I don’t understand-_  
 _“Why would anybody miss you, Dean?” Cas asks, tilting his head on the side. They’re not smiling anymore, they look angry. “You’re just so broken and fucked-up. Always complaining. Just a burden, if you ask me.”_  
 _“No wonder Dad hated you that much, Dean. You’re so wrong you make me want to puke. You can never do anything right, can’t you? Always screwing things up.”_  
 _You really want to say something, defend yourself, but you find out your voice is gone. You know they’re right. You know they’re telling the truth, of course._  
 _“You thought I cared about you, loved you even, what an idiot. Nobody loves you, Dean. You’re alone, you’re weak.”_  
 _“This is what you deserve for killing mom.”_  
 _You step back, gasping._  
 _“No, God no, ple-_  
 _“Always pleading like a whore.”_  
 _“You should have died in that accident.”_  
 _“Sam- Cas-” you look at their angry eyes._  
 _“Go away, we don’t want you.” Sam says coldly, staring right in your eyes._  
 _“Nobody wants you, slut.” Cas is even colder if possible. And you can’t take this, it feels like they shattered your already broken heart in a million pieces._  
And then you wake up, screaming.  
You roll out of the bed without even realizing, getting up on your shaking legs. It doesn’t work. Your knees give out under you, and you fall on the floor, your eyes searching the dark for Sam and Cas.  
 _Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck._  
And then you throw up right there, your body convulsing, but your stomach is empty, and the only thing that comes out is bile. It doesn’t stop your body from trying.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
But there’s nothing to focus, you can’t breathe, the collar tight around your neck. Somewhere in your mind you know you’re having a panic attack, but your brain can’t process it.  
They hate you. Of course they do. You’re worthless, just a whore. Just a broken toy.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
You need to breath, you’re going to die. It’s so dark and cold, why is it so dark and cold?  
 _You’re in Hell._  
You run your hands through your hair, pain shots through your body. You feel shattered in too many pieces, and this time there’s no way you’ll be able to stick them together again.  
And then you scream, as loud as you can. You scream until you have no voice left, and then you lean against the wall, pulling your knees to your chest. There’s too much. Too many voices screaming in your head, too many painful images in the darkness in front of your eyes, too much pain. You can’t. You just can’t. You’re not strong enough.  
 _Weak. Pathetic._  
You don’t know for how long you sit there, trying to stop shaking, holding back the tears. It’s hours later –or maybe only minutes, you don’t know-  when you get up, and find the lamp, your hands shaking so bad you almost knock it over.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
It was just a nightmare, just a dream.  
“It wasn’t real.” You whisper to yourself, your chest aching, compressed under an invisible weight. You still can’t breathe properly, adrenaline in your veins and your mind that’s still trying to catch up. Your eyes finally land on the cabinet, and without even thinking about it, you grab a bottle of liquor. And then you see the pills.  
 _You don’t want them. Focus, Dean._  
You just want to stop feeling, thinking, hurting. You just want it all to stop.  
You take the pills. You pop a couple of them on your mouth, and swallow them down with the liquor. And then you keep drinking, and drinking, until the bottle is almost empty and your mind is finally numb.  
   
Sometimes it’s not even for the sex. Sometimes Alastair just needs to reverse his anger on somebody. Usually it’s you.  
Right now he’s just beating the shit out of you, sitting on your hips, your hands tied behind your back, as he lifts the bat once again. But you don’t plead, you don’t cry.  
The blow lands on your hip, you curl up on yourself, trying to protect yourself as best as you can. It hurts.  
“Fucking whore.”  
When the next blow lands, everything goes black.  
   
Turned out that the pills help.  
They shut down your mind, and your thoughts, alleviate the pain, even if for not long. Still.  
Too bad Alastair always want you in your mind during a session. He wants you to feel everything. He wants you to feel all the pain.  
Like right now. While he hits you _everywhere_ with the stupid cane, blood running down between your thighs, the collar so tight around your neck it makes you feel like choking.  
Still, it’s not like you give a fuck anymore.  
You wish you could swallow one of those little pills, just to cut off the burning pain.  
   
How long has it been?  
Like three months?  
It feels like forever. You wish this place had some windows. Maybe you’re underground. You’ll be damned if you know.  
Well, you already are damned –this could definitely be Hell itself. Still, you don’t know.  
You wonder if Sam is alright. If Cas went on with his life. If they’re looking for you.  
 _But why would they?_  
Right, it’s not like you’re worth something. You’re just a broken whore, only good to be fucked until you’re bleeding. It’s not like you deserve something better than this.  
Of course they’re not looking for you. Their life are probably better without you anyway.  
You tell yourself you don’t give a shit, and pop another pill in your mouth, swallowing it with a sip of whiskey. Lucifer is waiting for you.  
   
You look up into Alastair’s eyes, your mind empty and numb. You lean over, to kiss his neck, his chest, your hands sliding on his stomach. Then he pushes you over and you lay down on the bed, your head hanging over the edge. Alastair slides his cock between your already open lips and starts fucking your mouth hard. You close your eyes, relaxing your jaw to take it in, not even gagging when he hits the back of your throat.  
He only presses his hands around your neck, cutting off the air. You don’t even panic, welcoming the numb sensation that envelops your mind. You close your eyes, it feels like floating.  
“Good whore.” you nod slightly, ignoring your burning throat. He lays down on the bed and pats his legs. You move closer, and climb on his lap, on leg at each side. He strokes his dick absently a couple of time, before you sit on it, taking it all in your ass in one try. You don’t even flinch at the pain.  
You start fucking yourself on his dick, faking moans and whimpers, holding onto his shoulders. Alastair fucks you hard, meeting each one of your thrusts. His eyes never leaves yours, his hands sliding around your neck again. You barely wince when he starts pressing down right above the collar.  
He only releases your neck briefly a couple of times –just enough to keep you conscious-  but you never stop riding his dick. He comes inside you, he groans, holding tightly. And you choke, and _finally_ pass out right there, your lungs burning and your eyes watering.  
But it’s not like you give a shit about yourself anyway.  
   
“Tell me how much you like it.” Alastair orders, blade cutting through your skin in the inside of your thighs. You tug at the handcuff behind your back  
“I love it, Sir.” You whisper, your voice husky. Alastair made his personal point of the day to make you scream until you have no voice left. He’s doing a damn good job. It hasn’t been this bad in a while. A new series of fresh cuts over your chest, bite marks and red sign where he spanked you with the cane.  
It’s fine. _You’re fine._  
He’s just going crazy. Well, crazier that he already is.  
Then he leaves you abruptly, but he’s back soon –too soon.  
And he has a gun.  
 _That’s it. What a shitty way to die._  
“Does this scare you, boy?” he asks, dragging the gun over your stomach, finger on the trigger.  
 _Oh God._  
“No, Sir.”  
“Liar.” You flinch. Fear runs through your veins. You haven’t been this scared in a while. _Shit._ “You should know better than lying, by now, Dean.”  
“I’m sorry, Sir, I’m-” he doesn’t let you finish, because then the gun is in your mouth, and you tense up, freezing. You look at him, waiting for him to blow your brain out of your head.  
He doesn’t press the trigger though.  
“Suck it. Suck it like if it was my cock.”  
That’s unexpected.  
Oh well. If it means he won’t kill you, you won’t complain. You flick your tongue over the barrel, and start to bob your head up at down, sliding your tongue over it. It’s fucking weird, the gun cold on your tongue. You press your tongue over the edge, then inside. Oh God, you’re _so_ going to get killed. _Fuck._  
“Do you like it, Dean? You love sucking my gun like you love to suck my cock?” you don’t answer, just keep doing what you’re doing.  
This is not fucked up _at all_.  
“Suck a cockslut, aren’t you? What if I push the trigger, Dean?” you shiver, looking up at him, not daring to stop. You don’t like where this is going. Yes, your life is sure shit, but still, you don’t feel like dying yet. “Maybe I should.” He takes the gun away from your mouth, shining with your spit, and suddenly it’s against your forehead.  
 _Fuck. Fucking hell._  
“It’s not like someone would miss you, anyway.” He considers. You close your eyes, tugging at the handcuff again. “Nobody would miss you, Dean. How does that makes you feel?”  
Like shit, because of course he’s right. But you don’t say it, you don’t say anything.  
“Open your eyes, I want to see you.” your eyes flutter open, and you lift them to meet his. Ice blue, cold, distant, and crazy. Your heart is beating so fast.  
 _You’re so fucked._ You’re sweating, blood running fast in your veins.  
Then he smirks, and you say mentally say goodbye to Sam, and Cas, and even Gabe.  
But then the gun is not at your head anymore. You freeze, watching him putting the damn thing away in a drawer. You force yourself to breathe in, and out.  
 _It’s fine. You’re fine._  
Alastair smirks at you.  
“I think I’ll have some more fun with you before getting rid of the trash.” You swallow hard, not even caring that your mouth is hanging open. He pins you down on the bed again, thrusting his dick in your ass without preambles. You whimper, squirming under his grip.  
He bites you neck _again,_ until he breaks the skin, drinking your blood. And that’s when you close your eyes and zone out, still shaking.  
 _You’re fine_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment or a kudos!  
> Warnings:  
> -Graphic description of abuse and violence  
> -Nightmares  
> -Panic attacks  
> -Low self-esteem  
> -Homophobic language  
> -Graphic description of rape/Non-con for literally the whole chapter.  
> everything that follows is non-con:  
> -Rough sex  
> -Spanking  
> -Sex toys  
> -Blood play and blood drinking  
> -Use of drugs  
> -Bondage  
> -Gangbangs


	19. Heathens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, welcome back!  
> So, now that the worst part is over we're getting close to the end, only like three more chapters!  
> Please read the Warnings at the end before reading the chapter.  
> Also, I literally don't know anything about how FBI operates, so like, sorry about that. I tried to not put much of it, just so I could avoid writing bullshit, plus I wanted the chapter to focus mainly on Dean and Cas.   
> Song: Heathens by Twenty One Pilots

_All my friends are heathens, take it slow_  
 _Wait for them to ask you who you know_  
 _Please don’t make any sudden moves_  
 _You don’t know the half of the abuse_  
   
 _We don’t deal with outsiders very well_  
 _They say newcomers have a certain smell_  
 _You have trust issues, not to mention_  
 _They say they can smell your intentions_  
   
   
You only have boxers on. And the collar of course, that hasn’t left your neck in _so_ long. Anyway, you’re about to get in the bathtub to clean the cum off of your body when Alastair storms in your room.  
You raise an eyebrow, not even impressed, just annoyed. You’re literally just coming out of a three-hours-session with Lucifer, your heads is full of shit and your legs still feel like jelly, you’re definitely not ready for a session with him.  
 _Fuck._  
But then you see the gun in his hand, the panic on his face, and all the alarms go off in your head.  
“Sir, what-  
“On your knees!” he shouts. You shiver, and drop on your knees, looking down. He presses the gun on your temples, his hand gripping at your neck.  
“Alastair!” men, a lot of men, storm in the room not even a minute after him.  
 _What the fuck is happening now?_  
And then you see the uniforms. Black, with three letter in white on their chest. _FBI._  
 _What the actual fuck._  
“Dean!” your heart actually stops for a few seconds, you snap your head up. Sam. _Sammy_.  
 _God no._  
You see him, among all those people, his long-ass hair coming out from under the helmet. What the fuck is he doing here? Oh God, no. He was supposed to stay away from this, from Alastair, to stay _safe._  
And then you see Cas. Right next to Sammy, his eyes sparkling. They look even bluer than what you remember. _Shit._  
“Now, gentlemen.” Alastair nasal voice breaks the silence, and snaps you out of your head. “You will be all very kind and let me walk away, or I’ll put a bullet in his pretty head.” The grip around your neck tightens. Your chest aches, you gasp for air.  
“Drop the gun, Alastair, it’s over.” one of the man says.  
“It’s not over until I say so.”  
You feel something.  
After so long you feel _something._ Anger. You won’t let this happen. You won’t let him walk away. Not even if you have to die. He _has_ to pay. He _will_ pay.  
“Move!” Alastair shouts. Nobody moves. “I’ll shoot him!” and just to make the point he presses the gun in your head a little more. You mentally roll your eyes. “I swear-” and then you reach your break point.  
It’s not like you give a shit about your life anyway, but you’re _really_ tired of listening to his annoying voice. And so you act. You throw back your elbow, hitting him in the crotch, your other hand reaching for his wrist and pushing his hand away from your head. The bullets hits the wall on your left, missing you only of a few inches.  
You twist his wrist behind his back, kicking him behind his knees. You snatch the gun from his hand, and suddenly he’s kneeling before you, and you have the gun pressed on his forehead.  
His expression is priceless. He looks so surprised and outraged. You wait for the insults, and the fight, but nothing happens.  
Then he grins, eyes shining with something that’s really close to madness.  
“Do it.” he whispers. Your hand twitches. “Do it. Show them who you really are, Dean.”  
You already did it once. But this time you wouldn’t miss.  
“Show them the monster that you are.” Alastair hisses, his grin fading away.  
In a second everything that he’s done to your appears in front of your eyes. After months, you’re not shaking. It would be so easy.  
“We are similar, Dean. Do it. You know you want it. Show them that we’re the same!” he’s shouting now.  
 _He deserves it. You know he does._  
 _You already did it once._  
 _You_ are _a monster, Dean._  
“Dean, no.” you haven’t heard his voice in _forever,_ but it’s still the same. Husky, and low, and it feels like honey. Cas. _Cas._ “Dean, you’re better than this.” You snort, not daring to look away from Alastair’s cold eyes. You don’t answer, you don’t trust your own voice.   
“He will pay for what he has done, Dean. You don’t have to do this.”  
“Dean, please, don’t do it. You’re a good person.” Sammy.  
 _Fuck._  
 _C’mon Dean, you’re past saving anyway._  
 _“_ Do it!” Alastair shouts. You take a deep breath.  
 _Do it._  
 _Focus, Dean._  
Then you step back.  
“Take him.” You hiss, still pointing the gun at him. The FBI acts quickly, handcuffing him and dragging him away.  
“NO! No! You bastard! I’ll fucking kill you! Did you hear me, you fucking whore? I’ll ki-” and then they drag him out of the room. Away from you.  
 _Away from you. Forever._  
You can’t even process it.  
You’re free.  
This is over.  
This is _over._  
It doesn’t look even possible. Maybe you’re dreaming, even though you only had nightmares for months.  
But then Sam hugs you, and Cas hugs you too, and suddenly you know you’re awake.  
“I told you we were gonna find you.”  
   
Once you get to the hospital, the police wants to talk with you. You agree, of course. You look up at the officer, a nurse wrapping your chest in bandages. They had to put stitches on more than a few cuts, and they gave you a thing for your apparently dislocated shoulder, so now your arm is hanging on your neck, and they wrapped both your ankles in tight bandages. They couldn’t do much for the broken ribs, and the few that are bent. Or for the concussion. Whatever.  
The only positive thing is the painkillers they give you.  
You tell the officer everything Alastair did to you, mechanically and methodically. It still doesn’t feel real, your mind still light and empty. The man stares at you with wide eyes, and the nurse keeps gasping and at a certain point you even see tears in her eyes.  
You don’t feel anything.  
 _What is wrong with you?_  
 _Focus, Dean._  
   
You’re home in a few days, with the orders to take it easy and relax. You can’t believe you’re home. It still feels like a dream. You keep waiting for it to twist into a nightmare, but it doesn’t happens, and it drives you crazy. This looks too good to be real.  
“Dean?” Cas’ voice snaps you out of your mind. You’re still not used to have him and Sam around again. It feels weird. You don’t know what to do with yourself.  
“Yeah?”  
“Are you okay?” what a dumb question. You’re literally covered in bruises and cuts -you know he’s not talking about that.  
“’m fine.” you say automatically.  
Sam nods, glancing  at you. He takes out three glasses and fills them up with whiskey. You take yours with a small smile, drinking it up in a single sip. You don’t miss the worried glance that Sam and Cas share. You clear your throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence.  
“What ‘bout him?” Cas flinches slightly, Sam looks at you.  
“He’s going back to prison. This time they’ll make sure to keep him in.”  
“He won’t escape again, Dean.” Cas says. You nod, turning your face to look outside the window- _finally_  a window, after so long. The sky is clear. You’re in the middle on summer. Outside is hot. Then why are you so cold?  
 _What is wrong with you?_  
You should be happy, a ball of joy. You’re out, you’re _free_.  
Then why do you still feel like shit?  
 _Because you are shit, boy._  
 _Get the fuck out of my head, Alastair._  
You’re really craving another drink right now. And a smoke, God you haven’t smoked in so long. You pour yourself another glass of whiskey.  
“Dean, we think you should see a therapist.” Sam finally says. You barely look up.  
“I think I’ll pass.” You want a pill. Maybe two.  
“You need help, Dean.” Cas adds, soft, soothing voice. You don’t like it, you don’t like this.  
“I definitely do _not_ need help. I’m _fine.”_  
“Dean, please, it’s for your own good.” You sneers, drinking up your second glass, welcoming the burning sensation down your throat and in your stomach.  
“No.”  
“At least go to the group sessions.” You sigh turning your back at them. You don’t want to deal with this yet –never. You move to your bed. The hospital bed was okay, but right now you drop on your bed, sinking among soft pillows and clean blankets. For some reason you were expecting it to smell like _something,_ something good, it doesn’t smell of anything instead. It’s kind of disappointing, really.  
“Is this place still running?”  
“Dean, please, we’re just trying to help.” Cas tries again, and it’s impressive the efforts they actually put in this.  
“But I don’t _need_ your help, I’m fine.”  
“When was the last time you ate something?” you shrug.  
“I don’t know, man, yesterday?” you know that’s a lie, and they know it too.  
“You didn’t eat anything at the hospital for basically the whole week.”  
“Can you blame me? Have you seen that shit? I ain’t eating that, man.” you say chuckling, trying to get them off of your back.  
“Dean, can you stay serious for a minute, please? When was it?”  
“What? Okay maybe it was at some point when I was still _there_ , what do you want me to say? I’m not hungry.”  
“You lost a lot of weight.”  
“I did a lot of exercise.” It comes out sharper than what you wanted, and they both flinch.  
“And when was the last time you slept for more than two hours in a row?” you chuckle.  
Before all this shit happened you never slept much. But now? Man, you’re lucky if you can stay asleep for thirty minutes, figures two hours.  
Sam seems to get it, and you roll on your stomach, wrapping yourself tightly in your sweatshirt.  
It feels kind of weird, having clothes again. _He_ only let you wear boxers -or panties- pants at max. _If that isn’t fucked up._  
“I think I’m gonna take a nap, you happy?” but even when both of them are out of the room, you still don’t fall asleep. You’re not even surprised.  
   
It’s late. You have spent the whole day on your bed. It reminds you of Alastair’s bed. Maybe that’s why you can’t fall asleep –or maybe you’re afraid to wake up back in that place.  
At a certain point Sam came in to check on you –you may or may not have pretended to be still asleep to avoid him- left a dish with food on the desk and disappeared again.  
Now you’re just staring at the ceiling. You can’t find the energy to move. Maybe you should go out for a walk, see how New York changed while you were away.  
Your head hurts, it has been hurting for the whole damn day.  
Then the door opens, and you don’t even try to pretend. You’re not motivated enough.  
“Dean?” Cas’ deep voice still makes you shiver.  
“That’s me.”  
“How are you?”  
“’m fine.”  
“You haven’t left your room all day.”  
“I just came back, let me enjoy my bed.”  
“Yes, of course, just… do you need anything?”  
“Alcohol.”  
“Anything else?”  
“You won’t get it for me, right?”  
“No, I’m sorry.”  
“Liar.”  
“The doctors said you should avoid alcohol and…substances.”  
“ _Substances?”_ you mock him, your lips quirking up. “I don’t do drugs.”  
“Dean, we know Alastair gave you some kind of pills.” Your smile fades.  
“And what else do you know?” you ask darkly. You don’t like where this conversation is going.  
“A lot of things. How- how are you, Dean? Really.”  
“ _Really_ fine, why does everybody keep asking it?”  
“You don’t seem fine.”  
“Is anybody?.”  
 _So fucking broken._  
Your head hurts.  
“You have a good point.” Cas lays down near you, it’s pretty dark in the room, the only light comes from outside the window, where the moon and the lights of the city are bright.  
When his shoulder bumps into yours, his hand looking for yours, you wince, sitting up in a second, a chill running down your spine.   
“Dean?”  
“I’m- I’m sorry. I just-  
“It’s okay. I understand. Are you okay? Do you want me to call Sam?” he stares at you, wide blue eyes. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to relax.  
“No, no, I’m- I’m fine. I’m fine.” Cas nods, clearly unsure on what to do. You lay down again, and Cas copies you after more staring. He doesn’t touch you this time.  
The silence is uncomfortable. So uncomfortable. It wasn’t like this _before._  
A single thought keeps flowing in your mind, and you can’t get rid of it, doesn’t matter how much your try. Your headache is killing you.  
You look over at Cas, only to find out he’s already looking at you.  
“Dean-  
“You don’t have to stay with me, Cas.”  
“Do you want me to leave?” he sounds hurt. You don’t understand. You swallow hard, it feels like your head is going to explode soon. “Dean.” he sits up, and you copy him, looking away,  
“It’s fine, really, I get it.”  
“You get _what_?” you roll your eyes. You tell yourself it’s fine, it doesn’t hurt. You tell yourself you don’t give a shit. _You’re fine._  
“I’m _dirty._ I’m- I’m broken. I can’t be fixed. And you don’t deserve someone like that. Actually, I figured you already forgot me. I was hoping you did.”  
“What- what does this mean? You were hoping I forgot you?” you shrug.  
 _You’re fine._  
“You deserve better than this -me. I don’t have anything to give you, Cas. And we both know it. So I won’t -I won’t blame you for leaving. I understand.” and then Cas moves closer really fast, cupping your cheek.  
You flinch, fear twisting your guts. You jerk away instinctively, and Cas looks _so_ sad.  
“Shit, I’m sorry Cas- I’m sorry, I just- for a second I thought-  
“Shh, Dean it’s okay. It’s fine.” you look down, waiting for a punishment, shame heating up your face. “Dean.”  
“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, I’m sorry.” you whisper.  
 _Good to nothing._  
“Dean look at me.” you obey, meeting his blue eyes. He moves slower this time, leaning his hand on your shoulder, you force yourself to not flinch, it doesn’t work. “I won’t hurt you, Dean. You’re safe here. You’re okay.”  
You take a few seconds to make it sink.  
This is Cas _-_ and Cas won’t hurt you. You’re safe.  
 _But what if he’s lying?_  
You _know_ he’s not, but it doesn’t stop your mind from asking the question.  
You let him hug you, wrapping you in his strong arms, and you need to take a couple of deep breaths to not panic. It’s okay. He’s just hugging you.  
You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, and you know it’s stupid, you have nothing to cry for, but still. Alastair hates seeing you cry.  
“Dean?”  
 _Pathetic._  
Your head is exploding. It’s like having a blade stuck in your brain, that keeps stabbing and stabbing.  
“I’m sorry, Sir, I’m fine.” you close your eyes again, wishing Alastair gave you a couple of pills. You could really use one right now. You cut his voice out, your mind going blank. You zone out. It’s easier this way.  
“Dean? Dean it’s me.” the hands slide down on your arms, they’re warm, you wait for them to move south, under the waistband of your pants. You swallow back the tears, moving your hands to his chest. You know Alastair likes it, he likes touching you and being touched by you.  
“I’ll make it up to you, Sir.”  
“Dean, what- what are you doing?”  
“I’ll do whatever you want me to do, Sir.” You answer mechanically, dragging your hands down his stomach. You start to unbuckle his belt -since when does Alastair even wear a belt?- and starts to pull the pants down. It’s okay. You’ll just let him use you as he always does.  
You tell yourself you don’t give a shit about it, you tell yourself you’re fine.  
“Dean, _stop.”_ You flinch, freezing.  
 _Jesus._  
“Sir?” you ask, still not looking up at him, you can’t.  
You wince when he touches your hair, waiting for him to pulling it, to hurt you in some way –in every way possible.  
“Look at me.” He says softly. The hand in your hair is not pulling, it’s stroking gently.  
 _Well, that’s new._  
You finally look up, blue, sad eyes meet yours.  
“Dean, it’s me. It’s _Cas._ I’m Cas. Not Alastair. Cas.”  
 _Cas._  
Your mind struggles to wrap up around the situation.  
 _Cas. This is Cas. Cas, not Alastair._  
You’re losing your mind, God, you’re going crazy.  
How did that happen?  
Two seconds ago you were with Alastair, waiting for your punishment.  
Only that, of course, Alastair was never here.  
It was Cas. It has always been Cas.  
 _Fuck._  
You jerk away, staring at him, pretty sure you look crazy.  
“Dean-  
“Leave.” Your voice cracks, but you can’t bring yourself to care.  
“But-  
“Please, Cas, _leave.”_  
“Dean, it’s okay, you’re safe, you-  
“Leave!” you shout, hating how pathetic your voice sounds, hating the tears filling your eyes.  
“I don’t think you should be alone right now.” you would laugh at his tone, if you didn’t feel like drowning.  
 _What is wrong with you?_  
 _Why are you so fucked up?_  
 _Why do you have to screw up everything?_  
 _Why can’t you ever be good enough?_  
You get up, breathing fast, unsteady on your feet. Your legs are going to give up soon under you.  
“Dean? Where are you going, Dean?”  
You lean against the wall, your vision blurry, the room spinning around you.  
 _Fuck._  
Finally you walk into the bathroom, and lean over the sink. Then you’re puking, only that there’s nothing to puke in your stomach. It doesn’t stop your body from convulsing and shaking, your throat burning like acid.  
 _Fuck._  
“Dean.” you finally let yourself fall on the cold floor, leaning against the wall.  
 _Why are you so fucked up?_  
You pull your legs to your chest, closing your eyes.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“Dean?”  
“I’m sorry Cas, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m-  
“Dean, stop.” You immediately shut up, looking down. Alastair doesn’t like hearing your voice either, unless you are screaming or begging.  
“May I touch you?” he asks gently, and you hate that you’re so weak, that a simple touch can set you off like that.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
You want him to leave, he can’t see you like this, you need him close.  
“Cas, please, I’m sorry- I’m so-  
“Sh, Dean it’s okay.” He slowly lifts a hand, and ever slower he approaches your shoulder, and you try to stay still, but can’t stop yourself from wincing when he finally touches you, whimpering.  
“It’s okay, Dean, it’s going to be okay, you’re safe. You’re okay.”  
You keep mumbling _please_ and _Cas_ without even realizing it and things that probably don’t even make sense. He helps you up, and you lean against him, your legs feel like jelly.  
“Let’s get you to sleep.”  
Cas guides you to your bed, and you close your eyes, trying to get yourself together. You can’t, you can’t stop shaking, you can’t breathe, you can’t do _anything._  
“Cas.”  
“I’m right here, Dean ,it’s okay, I got you, I got you.” he wraps you in his arms again, and this time you don’t try to move away, instead you scoot closer. Cas is solid and warm against you, and you lean on him.  
He runs his fingers through your hair, slowly.  
“It’s okay, I got you.”  
“Please don’t leave me.”  
“I won’t.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“It’s not your fault, any of this is.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“You’re going to be okay, I promise.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“I won’t let anybody hurt you ever again.”  
Neither of you fall asleep that night, but Cas’ arms around you are comforting, and slowly you find yourself relaxing in his embrace. This feels good. This feels right.  
 _Focus, Dean._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos, I'd love to hear what you think!  
> Warnings:  
> -Graphic description of violence  
> -Guns  
> -Mention of prostitution  
> -Mention of rape  
> -Hallucinations  
> -Panic attaks  
> -Alcohol abuse  
> -Mention of drugs  
> -Depression  
> -Chronical pain  
> -Self-esteem issues


	20. Gasoline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys!  
> So after this one, there will be only one more chapter, we're almost at the end.  
> Please read the Warnings at the end.  
> Song: Gasoline by Halsey, I think this song is just so perfectly fitting for Dean, and God, I love it so much.

_Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?_  
 _Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?_  
 _Do the people whisper ‘bout you on the train like me?_  
 _Saying that you shouldn’t waste your pretty face like me?_  
 _And all the people say?_  
 _“You can’t wake up, this is not a dream,_  
 _You’re part of a machine, you are not a human being,_  
 _With your face all made up, living on a screen,_  
 _Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.”_  
   
Dean screams when he has nightmares, so loud you heard him from the bedroom near his.  
“Dean? Dean wake up!” he keeps turning, fighting against the sheets. “Dean!”  
He’s saying something, mostly _no_ ’s and _please_ ’s, begging someone to stop, just stop. _Alastair._  
You bite down on your lip, sitting on the edge. You have to wake him up, but you don’t really want to touch him without asking first.  
“Dean, please, you have to wake up.” He groans, but nothing happens, you finally touche his shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Dean?” still nothing, he lets out a whimper, forehead covered in a thin layer of sweat. You shake him harder. “Dean!”  
And his eyes snap open, he quickly sits up, breathing fast, shaking.  
“Dean?”  
“ _Fuck._ Fuck, fuck.” He whispers, hugging himself. He closes his eyes.  
“Dean, you have to breathe slower. In and out, yeah good, in and out, just like that babe, again, perfect.”  
You have been through this so many times since he’s back, a couple of weeks ago. More than one time each night. His eyes search the room for yours, and your hands itch to touch him, but you keep them in your lap.  
“Cas?” he asks quietly, like he’s afraid of talking.  
“I’m right here, Dean. Just keep breathing. It was just a bad dream. You’re okay.”  
“I’m fine.”  
“Yes, you’re safe.” He nods, he’s still shaking.  
“May I touch you, Dean?” He glances at you, and shakes his head. Your heart sinks.  
Sometimes it happens. Sometimes the nightmare was so bad, Alastair was so cruel in Dean’s head, that if you touch him Dean will just slap your hand away, terror filling his mind, maybe hiding in the bathroom. It happened. It wasn’t nice.  
You nod, clenching your fists in your lap. Guess you can only talk to him then.  
It takes a long time before Dean stops shaking.  
   
“May I touch you, Dean?” you ask softly. Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless. You’re behind him, kneeling on the bed  
He nods, his muscles tensed.  
You run your fingers on his bare skin. He’s pale and he really lost a lot of weight. It hurts seeing him like this.  
He’s still beautiful.  
Your fingertips wander over the cuts without really touching them, over the red still fating, over the bruises in shapes of bites and fingers.  
You were supposed to change his bandage, but you find yourself unable to look away.  
“Cas?” he even sounds tired.  
Anger boils in your blood, and you clench your jaw, holding back a string of curses. Fucking Alastair. How could _anybody_ do something like _this_ to _Dean?_  
Funny, smart, amazing, perfect, beautiful, sweet, dorky, adorable Dean.  
He broke him. And the worst part  is that you’re not even sure if you can fix this. The green of his eyes looks washed, foggy.  
“Cas? You still there?”  
“Yes, yes, sorry. I was just- lost in thoughts.” He nods, and there’s silence again. _Before_ Dean would have filled it with jokes or stories. That seems to be gone too.  
“Cas?”  
“Yes?” you finally snap out of your mind, and get to work, actually cleaning his wounds and wrapping his chest in clean bandages.  
“Do you still paint?” you raise an eyebrow. You weren’t expecting that question.  
“Yes, I do. Even though lately I found it difficult to get inspiration.” He nods again.  
“Can I see ‘em?” it warms something inside you, and without even realizing you’re smiling.  
“Of course, Dean.”  
“How are you doing?”  
“Pretty good, I’d say. Since the gallery I keep receiving new orders.”  
“Getting famous. Soon your paintings will be at the MOMA.”  
“I don’t think that is so easy.” You say frowning.  
“I know, Cas. I was joking.” The corner of his mouth quirks up into a small smile.  
“Oh.”  
“Yeah, _oh_.” He turns to face you and then both of you are just sitting cross-legged in front of each other.  
You don’t touch him, though a small smile now ghosts on his lips.  
“Am I amusing to you, Dean?”  
“Well, yeah, kinda. You’re still so clueless.”  
“I beg to differ, I’m not _clueless.”_ Dean just smiles, a barely-there smile, and stands up, putting on a t-shirt.  
“I’ll show them to you one of this days.”  
“Awesome.” You can’t help but smile.  
“Yes, awesome.”  
   
“Dean, you should see the therapist.”  
“I don’t want to.”  
“Why not?”  
“I’m _fine_ , dammit Cas!”  
“Dean, you’re not fine, we _both_ know it.”  
“Fuck off, I don’t need that shit.”  
“Please, would you at least consider it?”  
“No, I don’t need a fucking therapist.”  
“You need _help.”_  
“I’m fucking fine!” and then he slams the door closed and leaves you in the empty room. You sigh, dropping on the bed. It doesn’t help that it smells like him.  
 _Fuck._  
   
You hate this. You hate Alastair, you hate yourself, you hate yourself so fucking much, you hate that you can’t stop thinking, you hate that you can’t sleep, you hate your nightmares, you hate that you can’t be touched without freaking out, you hate that you’re so fucked up, you hate that you keep lying, because lying is the only thing you know, because Alastair always lied to you, you hate Cas and Sam for being so fucking perfect, you hate them for still caring about you when the only thing you deserve is hate.  
You hate all this and you don’t know what to do with yourself.  
You hate that you can’t eat because every time someone puts food in front of you the only thing you can think about is Alastair feeding you with his nasty, cold fingers.  
You hate feeling his hands –and Lucifer’s- all over your body every time you shower, every time someone touches you.  
You hate being so broken.  
So what if you drown all of this in alcohol?  
So what if you break every single piece of furniture in your room?  
So what if you destroy everything around you?  
That’s why you’re sitting in front of your bed, the room devastated. You pick up the bottle of whiskey from the floor near you, music loud. Not even Led Zeppelin, or Metallica, or ACDC seem able to help you. Destroying everything maybe wasn’t your best idea.  
Maybe.  
It makes you feel a little better, just a bit, but you’ll take it. Right now you’ll do everything to make the pain in your chest disappear, to make the blade in your brain stop turning and stabbing.  
You drink. You’ve already gone through four –five?- bottles today, they’re on the ground now, shattered in pieces after your attack.  
It reminds you of Dad so much. You’re just like him right now.  
It only makes you feel worse.  
 _What have you done?_  
How ironic, turned out he was right. Of course he was. He and Alastair both were right.  
Of course you’re such a mess, of course you’re so fucked up, of course you’re just _like him._ Jesus, look at you. So worthless. Just a slut. Just a broken toy.  
So what if you finish that bottle too before passing out? So what if the blade is still turning?  
   
Cas’ paintings are still beautiful.  
Still so expressive that they make your guts turn when you see them, when you see yourself in them.  
And you look even more broken and shattered than _before._ What Cas painted is Hell. It’s bloody, twisted, dark, and so frighteningly accurate. It’s like being in one of your nightmares.  
“Dean?” your eyes land on one standing on the floor of his study against the wall.  
It’s you, obviously –most of his paintings are about you. In this one you’re sprawled on a bed, everything is dark red –just like blood- around you, the sheets, the pillows. And chains are forcing you to stay in that position, a dark figure, a shade more than an actual human being, is bent over you, a blade running on your bare chest. And you’re screaming, pain evident on your face, your green eyes shining with tears.   
Cas got everything perfectly, every single detail about your body and face. And it looks like people are around you, more dark shades, more sketchy figures, staring at you, covered in blood, enjoying themselves, loving watching you suffer.  
You just look so pathetically broken.  
Coming here was a bad idea.  
“Dean?” you should have known better. Why would Cas see you any different? You _are_ broken. It’s okay, you accepted it. Then why does it hurt so much seeing this?  
Your head hurts. Fuck, the blade in your brain keep sliding in and out. _Jesus._  
“Dean, are you okay?” you finally register Cas’ voice, behind you. It makes you wince, snapping you out of your head. You blink.  
“What?”  
“Are you okay?” he asks again, concern pictured all over his face. He stares at you with his damn blue eyes, and _fuck,_ Cas deserves so much better than you, so much more.  
You don’t understand.  
“I’m fine.” You say, turning away from the painting. Your stomach twists on himself, and you have to force the retches down your throat again, mostly because you don’t have anything to throw up.  
“Do you want something to eat? Drink?”  
“A beer?” Cas nods, disappearing in the kitchen for a couple of minutes. And just because you hate yourself, you turn to watch the paintings again. You pointedly avoid the one you just saw, and move on.  
There’s another one, and Cas is in this one too. Here, he’s an angel, with big black, majestic wings. He looks so strong, his blue eyes glowing with power. And you’re in his arms, it looks like he’s pulling you away from flames and darkness. You’re wrecked, damn you look pretty much dead, dark red blood standing out on your pale skin. Cas holds you firmly, a fiery look in his eyes, like he’s ready to fight an army by himself to protect you. Like he’s ready to die for you.  
It makes your chest ache.  
“I personally like that one too.” Cas whispers behind you. You turn, accepting the beer he’s handing to you.  
“You saved me.” You say, and it sounds stupid and you can’t look at him while you say it. But you can feel the smile in Cas’ voice when he speaks again.  
“You deserved it.”  
 _I don’t._  
You look up at him, the blade stabbing your brain so hard that for a second you can’t see anything but black. Then you’re bent over his kitchen’s sink, and you’re vomiting, even though your stomach is so empty that it only hurts.  
   
Dean is sitting on the balcony, his legs hanging out in the void.  
“What are you doing?” he flinches, turning to face you. He smiles at you.  
“Heya Cas.” he greets, quickly turning again. Outside the sun is just setting down, and the warm light brings out his freckles, washes his hair in gold. So fucking beautiful.  
Too bad he’s on the balcony of his window, the ground about fifty floors lower.  
“Dean, come in.” you say, trying to keep the panic under control. He looks down, surprised.  
“How did I get up here?” he whispers. He looks up at you again, green, sad eyes filled with confusion. He’s drunk. Again.  
“Dean, baby, come here.” You move closer, slowly, one step at the time. He looks down, closes his eyes. He takes a couple of deep breath. Now you’re close enough to see that he’s shaking. “Dean, are you okay?”  
“I don’t know. I don’t remember why I was sitting here.” he answers, finally opening his eyes again. He looks down at the ground, far, far away. The gold light of the sunset can’t hide how pale he looks.  
“It’s okay, I’m right here.” You hold out an hand, and he stares at it for a couple of seconds. “May I touch you, Dean?” you ask. You ignore the fear twisting your stomach, filling your chest. You need to stay focused, you need to pull him away from that window.  
 _Fuck._  
He nods, and finally takes your hand. You slowly pull him back in, and when his feet finally touch the ground again you wrap him in your arms without even thinking.  
“Fuck.” You allow yourself to be overwhelmed with relief, just a few seconds. “You scared me so much, Dean, fuck.”  
“I’m sorry.” When you pull back he doesn’t look at you, staring pointedly at his bare feet.  
“Dean, what’s wrong?”  
“I’m fine.” He says, and finally looks up. He has always been good at lying, you know that. Always too good at hiding everything behind a tough façade, a cocky grin. Now the mask is cracked, what Alastair did can’t be hidden behind a smirk, you can see the pain and the sadness behind his eyes.  
He looks so lost.  
Then he steps back, his hands are still shaking, yours itch with the impulse, the need, to touch him.  
“I’m sorry.”  
“It’s okay. Do you know- do you remember what were you doing?” he shrugges, turning his back to you. He walks to the desk –the new one Sam bought after Dean destroyed his old one with a fucking a baseball bat, Dean doesn’t even play baseball- and takes one of the bottles that cover pretty much the entire surface. Most of them are empty.  
Dean brings one straight to his lips, not even bothering to get a glass.  
“Not really, it doesn’t matter though. I’m fine now.”  
“Dean, please thi-  
“ _I’m fine.”_ He hisses through clenched teeth, a note of desperation in his voice, like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. You nod. You know he won’t say anything else.  
   
You look up at your reflection in the mirror.  
You literally look like shit. But it’s fine, whatever. You run a hand through your hair, waiting for the shower to warm up. When finally the running water is so hot it’s literally smoking, you get under it. It’s so hot that your skin quickly flushes red, but you don’t mind. Actually, it makes you feel better. For a minute or two the blade stops twisting.  
It’s good. So good you actually gasp. You close your eyes, enjoying the silence in the bathroom –and in your mind- as long as it last. It doesn’t take longer for the blade to start turning again.  
You sigh, rubbing your eyes. It’s fine, you’re getting used to it. You try to relax, enjoying the water running over your body, washing away everything. This was your favorite part when you were with Alastair, being able to shower for as a long as you wanted, washing away all the sweat, the cum, the blood. It made you feel a little less dirty.  
Only that you still are dirty.  
You run your hands over your body. It feels good.  
God, when was the last time you jacked off? _Fuck,_ you can’t even remember. It was before Alastair for sure. You weren’t allowed to touch yourself there. Not that you wanted. Damn, actually, when was the last time you were even _hard_?  
You groan. Maybe jacking off would help.  
You need to get over this. You’re okay, now. You’re _fine._ You don’t need more time, you don’t need for everybody to treat you like a baby. You’re fucking fine.  
You just need to get over this, you need for everything to be normal again, you need to go back to when you and Cas would fuck like rabbits and Sam wasn’t always worrying about you.  
So you think about Cas. His dark hair sweaty and messy because you ran your hands through it so many times, his eyes dark and hungry, his body sliding over yours, sexy and hot, his fingers wrapped around your cock, his lips sucking at your nipple.  
You let out a little moan, you have seen him doing it so many times that pulling the image in your head is pretty easy. It seems to do the trick, and your cock twitches, interested. You run your wet fingers on your chest, pinching your nipple a few times, imagining it’s Cas’ mouth.  
You slide your other hand down between your legs, teasing at the head of your half-hard dick. In your head, Cas’ full lips leave your nipple to move south, leaving a trail of sweet, wet kisses on your stomach, wrapping an hand around your dick. He starts stroking it, watching you with a smirk, blue eyes shining with lust and desire.  
“Cas.” you whisper, reaching down with your other hand, teasing your hole. You want Cas to fuck you like he did before you left. You want Cas to fuck you, period. Actually, you want Cas, _fucking_ _period._  
You shiver when you start pushing your finger inside your hole.  
 _Blue eyes watch you with hunger, a cold thrill runs down your spine._  
 _Get the fuck out of my head._ You try to push the image away, you don’t want Alastair, you were doing great. You ignore it, stroking your dick faster, pushing the finger all the way in. It burns, it wasn’t your best idea, and it doesn’t help. More images flip in front of you close eyes, and _fuck no,_ because now you’re shaking, and you can’t even get _hard,_ you can’t do this, and you have to throw up. You don’t even try to hold it back, you bent over and vomit the whatever you had in your stomach, which is basically fucking nothing.   
Your throat burns, your eyes watering, or maybe it’s just the water –you know it’s not just the water- your mind full of shit again.  
When you manage to stop, you wait for all that crap to be washed away and then slowly sit down. Your head is spinning so fast right now.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
The blade is fucking killing you.  
You pull your knees to your chest. This was a bad idea. _Deep breath_. Of course it would end up like this _. Breathe slower, Dean._ Your head is so fucked up you can’t even jack off in peace. It makes you feel sick. _Focus, Dean._ It makes you feel even dirtier, more tired. _It’s okay, you’re okay._  
 _Focus, Dean._  
You won’t try this ever again.  
   
“Dean, check this out!” Sam bursts into your room, his phone in his hand.  
“What?” you get up from the bed, rubbing your eyes.  
“Apparently we’re one of the best hotels in the City.”  
That actually moves something in you.  
“Are you serious?”  
“Yeah, that’s what the Times says. Look at this, Dean, we’re on the fucking top.” He shows you the phone, but he’s too excited to stand still, therefore you can’t read much. But it doesn’t stop you from laughing. Damn, apparently finally something is working out in your miserable life.  
“That’s frigging great, Sammy!”  
“Dude we made it! I can’t believe we’re on the fucking top, Jesus.” He runs a hand through his way-too-long hair, and then you surprise you both pulling him in a hug. He stands still for a couple of seconds, puzzled, but then he finally hugs you back. And _fuck,_ it feels good. You missed him, you missed him so fucking much.  
“Hell yeah we made it, Sammy.”  
   
“Dean.” he doesn’t answer you, staring blankly out of the window. Outside is dark, the moon bright in the sky, Manhattan’s lights even brighter, the background noise always there. “Dean, how are you?”  
“As usual.” He says, bringing the cigarette to his lips, taking a long drag. You sit down on the couch near him, keeping a respectable distance.  
“I sold another painting today.” You say, trying to get him to talk, anything really. That seems to do the trick. For a second his eyes sparkle again, green shining, and he smiles.  
“That’s great, Cas. Which one?”  
“I don’t think you saw it. But the client thought it was beautiful and wanted to buy literally on the spot and take it home.”  
“Damn, Cas, that’s impressive. I’m proud of you.” this time is your turn to smile.  
“Thanks, that means a lot to me.” He smiles back at you, and you feel your heart beating a little faster. Seeing Dean smiling always makes your skin tingle. It’s good, feels good.  
Then he grimaces, and takes another drag.  
“You okay?” he nods quickly.  
“Yeah, I just- I just have an headache.”  
“Do you want something for it?”  
“You will give drugs to a guy that was hooked up on pills for months?” he asks with a crooked smile. You feel yourself blush.  
“I just- I don’t want you to feel pain.” His expression softens a bit, and maybe –just maybe- you said the right thing for once.  
“It wouldn’t work, anyway. Sammy tried to give me any kind of medicine for headaches, it just won’t go away.”  
“I didn’t know you have them often.” He shrugs, standing up. He moves toward his desk, picks up a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and sits down again. You ponder what to say, you don’t want him to get angry again. He fills two glasses and hands you one, putting the bottle on the ground, near the couch. You take the glass. “Can I do something to help?” you ask in the end. Dean raises and eyebrow.  
“I don’t know. It’s like- it’s like if a knife was stuck in my fucked-up brain, and it keep twisting and twisting, it just- it just never stops. It goes on and on, constantly. It’s driving me crazy.” He looks down. “Alcohol helps. Smoke too. The pills- the pills _he_ gave me were good too.” you flinch, itching to touch him.  
“I’m sorry to hear this, Dean. How can I help?” you ask again, you want to do something, anything, to make him feel better. He looks up at you, a small smile on his lips.  
“I’ll be fine, Cas. Nobody died because of a little headache. Don’t worry.”  
“It doesn’t sound like a little headache.” You say, and he chuckles. It catches you unprepared, you weren’t ready to see him with a full, relaxed smile on his face, the sound of his laugh –even if it was small- still rings in your head.  
“Damn, Cas, you really know how to make me feel better, thanks man.” You blush again, harder.  
“I apologize.” He stares at you in silence for a couple of seconds, almost in awe. You frown. “Do I have something on my face?” you ask, reaching up to touch your cheek. He shakes his head, amused.  
“You’re just cute when you blush.” Which of course makes you only blush harder.  
“Oh.”  
“Yeah.”  
“You’re- you’re cute when you blush too.” you say, and could this be more awkward? What the hell is happening right now? “Brings out your freckles. I- I like your freckles.” And now he’s blushing too, and it feels like a small victory. He nods, taking a sip from the glass, another drag from his cigarette. You don’t like when he drinks _and_ smoke, but you don’t say anything, not after he told you about the headaches.  
You realize you have been staring at him for a while, when he speaks again, breaking the comfortable silence that settled.  
“I guess we should go to sleep.” You blink.  
“Oh, yes, yes of course.” you stand quickly, almost tripping over your feet. “Goodnight, Dean.”  
“Cas, ah- would you- would you stay with me?” he asks, looking down, his cheeks pink. The blush really does bring out the freckles.  
It makes you feel warm. What a sap.  
“Yes, yes of course, Dean.” he nods. He throws you a soft t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and you disappear in the bathroom to change. When you come back in the room, Dean is already in bed, wrapped in the sheets even though it’s summer now.  
You slip under the sheets too, leaving some space between you two. Dean is laying down on his back, staring at the ceiling.  
“Goodnight, Dean.” you whisper, turning off the light.  
“’Night, Cas.”  
It’s been about ten minutes –maybe more? Less? Who knows?- when you hear Dean shifting. You know he’s not sleeping, you can feel it.  
What you don’t expect is he shifting closer to you.  
“Cas, could you- could you-  
“Of course, Dean.” you whisper back, and you can hear his sigh of relief. You smile at yourself when he turns on his side, his back to you. You shift closer, until your chest is pressed against his back. You wrap his waist with your arm, and his whole body freezes.  
“Is this okay?” there are a couple of seconds of silence, and then he nods, finally relaxing. He seems to melt against you, snuggling closer.  
“Yeah. It’s okay.” You smile, burying your face in his hair. And if you ignore the smell of alcohol and smoke, you can smell Dean’s scent. That, at least, hasn’t changed.  
That night, surprisingly, Dean doesn’t have nightmares.  
   
The radio is blasting Led Zeppelin. The Impala runs smoothly and fast on the empty street.  
Feels good to be back behind the steering wheel. Outside is dark and you should probably slow down, but you don’t feel like going any slower. The air that comes from the open windows feels good on your skin.  
You left New York almost an hour ago, you went through your whole favorite playlist already three times, but neither Sam or Cas are here to complain about that. You don’t even have a destination, you’re just driving, away from everything and everyone.  
You sort of feel bad. Cas was trying to convince you to see the fucking therapist when you told him to fuck off and left. He’s probably sulking right now, blaming himself for something he shouldn’t care about. He shouldn’t care about you, about how you’re doing, if you’re okay, if you need something, anything.  
The Impala accelerates. You hold the steering wheel tighter.  
He should hate you, be disgusted by you.  
You’re disgusting, broken and dirty beyond imagination.  
And yet, Cas still insists. Still does his best to take care of you, like you’re worth something.  
You kinda wish he was here right now, so he could distract you, so he could make you feel a little better. Cas always knows how to do that, calming you down after a nightmare, talking you out of your panic attacks, pushing away the bad memories with a single touch.  
You turn the Impala and head back to the City.  
   
It seems that Dean is getting better. Most of the bruises have healed, the cuts are finally closing up. His shoulder is okay most of the time.  
The problem is in his head. You know he has nightmares like five times every night, even though since when you started to sleep with him he only has them a couple of times, or zero if you’re lucky.  
After he told you about the constant migraines you started to pay more attention, and you see how sometimes he grimaces, or massage his temple in a vain attempt to alleviate it. You wish you could help, you wish he could be okay without having to drink bottles of whiskey.  
“Your touch helps too.” he says, shyly, at a certain point.  
“What?” you lift your eyes from the notebook you were sketching on. Dean is sitting on the couch near you, wrapped in a hoodie too big for him – _before_ it would have been the right size- a book in his hand. He’s been reading a lot lately. Maybe because he doesn’t have much else to do.  
“For the headaches. You touching me helps too.” he repeats, blushing just a bit. You smile. You open out your arm, and Dean bites his lip, before snuggling closer, resting his back against your chest, your arm around his shoulder, down on his stomach.  
“Better?”  
“A bit.”  
   
“So, Gabe, mh?” Sam smiles awkwardly.  
“Yeah.”  
“Is it serious?”  
“We’ve- we’ve been together for more than six months. So yeah, I’d say it’s pretty serious.”  
“Good for you, lil’ brother.” You smile, genuinely for once, and take a sip of your soda.   
“Yeah, he and Balthazar, do you remember him?, are in England for a couple of weeks.”  
“To do what?”  
“Wedding of some old friend, I think. Cas was supposed to go to, but then he stayed here.”  
“I guess it’s my fault?”  
“He cares about you, Dean. A lot.” Your smile falters.  
“I know.”  
“And you _care_ about him a lot, too.” You’re definitely not smiling anymore, suddenly breathing is not so easy.  
“I- I suppose.”  
“You know you can’t lie to me, Dean.”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say, looking away.  
“Do you love him?” your heart skips a beat -or maybe a bunch- as you stare at him, wide eyes.  
“I- I-  
“It’s okay, Dean. You deserve it.” he says softly, gently. You shake your head, your hands are shaking. Jesus, no.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
“But I don’t, Sammy. I don’t deserve someone like him. Someone like you.” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can’t stop them.  
“Dean, please-  
“I’m poison. And you know it. Everything I touch gets ruined. I can’t-  
“Dean, stop, hey. Dean, can I touch you?” you bite your tongue, and nod slightly. He put his hands on your shoulders, effectively anchoring you to the ground. “Dean, you’re _not_ poison, okay? You are good. And you are going to be okay.”  
You don’t believe him, your mind at war with your heart –so pathetic, _wow._  
“Cas can help you, if you only let him. _We_ can both help you, you just need to let us in.”  
“I can’t.”  
“Please, Dean. I can’t- I can’t see you like this.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“It’s not your fault, Dean, we can fix this.” You look up into his pleading, puppy eyes.  
 _Focus, Dean._  
You know he’s right. Of course he is. He’s always right, you _know_ you need help. Doesn’t mean you’re going to admit it. You told everything to the police, you can’t talk about it again. You just can’t.  
“Dean, please, man. We need you.”  
 _Sammy needs you._  
You close your eyes, trying to make all the voices in your head shut the fuck up. They’re driving you crazy. The fact that you can’t even remember the last time you actually had a good night of sleep doesn’t help.  
 _You need help._  
 _But you don’t deserve it. Like you don’t deserve Sam and Cas._  
 _Shut the fuck up._  
“Okay.”  
“Okay?” Sam lights up like a Christmas tree, and maybe it was worth it. “You’ll go?”  
“I’ll- I’ll go.”  
“I’ll come with you.” that sounds better. You can already tell you’re going to be a mess after the therapy session. You nod, sliding away from his hands. He seems to get it and drops his arms at his side.   
 _Focus, Dean._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment or a kudos!  
> Warnings:  
> -Mention of rape  
> -Mention of violence  
> -Mention of therapy  
> -Nightmares  
> -Panic attacks  
> -Alcohol abuse  
> -Self-hatred  
> -Depression


	21. For him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter!  
> I Can't believe we're at the end, i don't know if i'm happy or sad.   
> I just want to thank all the people that followed and liked this story, that left kudos and comments, y'all are amazing, I love you.   
> So I guess this is a goodbye, until I come up with some other bullshit.   
> Peace out bitches.  
> Song: For him by Troye Sivan.

_We are runnin' so fast_  
And we never look back  
And whatever I lack, you make up  
We make a really good team  
And not everyone sees  
We got this crazy chemistry  
Between us  
 _You don't have to say I love you to say I love you_  
Forget all the shooting stars and all the silver moons  
We've been making shades of purple out of red and blue  
Sickeningly sweet like honey, don't need money  
All I need is you  
All I need is you, you  
   
 _[2 years later]_  
 _Shit,_ you’re so going to be late.  
You quickly pull up your pants, covering the pink, lacey panties –a surprise for later.  
You quickly check yourself on the mirror, pushing back your blonde hair. You look pretty good, with a simple red flannel and a black, tight shirt over your black jeans. You smile, checking for the hundredth time that the little velvety box is in your pocket. Good.  
You arrive at the restaurant only five minutes after your appointment. The place isn’t fancy, but they make Cas’ favorite hamburgers. Cas is already sitting at your usual table near on the window, he’s sketching something on a napkins.  
You’re nervous and excited at the same time, and that makes your hands sweaty.  
“Hey sunshine.” You lean on Cas to kiss his lips. He smiles at you, blue eyes shining bright.  
“Hello, Dean. You’re late.”  
“I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t.”  
“Also a good point.”  
“So? How did it go?” Cas smiles. He had this interview today, with this famous magazine about art, Blouin Art & Auction or something like that. You didn’t even know it existed before Cas told you about them, but from what you understand, it’s a great honor, and Cas was terrified this morning.  
“I think it went pretty good, I’m- I’m happy, very happy actually.”  
“What did they ask you?”  
“About my paintings, why I started, what they represent.” He blushes. “I told them about you, too.”  you blush as well, and for a second you don’t know what to say.  
“That’s great, Cas.” he smiles softly at you. The waitress comes to take your orders, and brings back the plates ten minutes later.  
You force yourself to act natural, filling your mouth with delicious, iper-caloric food. You tell Cas about your day at Hotel, where now you are actually doing some work that you even like. If that isn’t progress.  
You pay the bill, and then drag Cas to Central Park. It’s nice out, summer has just started, and the air is still a little chilly, but nothing unbearable.  
You stop under a street lamp, taking Cas’ hands in yours. You kiss him, no tongue, just your lips on his.  
“I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while.”  
“Is that why you have been so nervous the whole evening?”  
“Yeah, yeah kinda.”  
“You’re not breaking up with me, are you?” he jokes, but you catch a glimpse of fear in his eyes.  
“God, no. Hell no. Not even close.”  
“Alright, then. What is it?” you close your eyes, trying to remember the speech you prepared and even rehearsed in front of the mirror, but nothing comes to you.  
 _Guess I’ll have to improvise._  
“So- I know- I know I can be an asshole sometimes. And I know I’m not perfect-  
“Dean-  
“Just let me talk, okay? Okay, so I’m not perfect, I fuck things up, I’m messed up in the head, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it, but I love you.” you blush, your cheeks burning. Cas smiles holding your hands tighter. “I love everything about you, I know I don’t say it enough ‘cause- I don’t even know why. But I do love you, I love your eyes, your smile, your hands, just- everything. And I have _no idea,_ literally no clue, why you love me back. But- that’s why- oh fuck-  
“Dean?” you take the little box out of your pocket and finally drop on your knee. You smile up at him, and those are definitely tears in Cas’ eyes, and you’re never going to let down the fact that he cried. Maybe there are tears in your eyes too, but that doesn’t matter.  
“Will you marry me, Castiel Novak?” you open the box to reveal a ring in the shape of a crown in white gold with beautiful little sapphires. They’re almost the same color of his eyes.  
He nods again and again, then he grabs your arms and pulls you up. You laugh when he kisses you, grabbing your hips.  
“I take that as yes?” you ask, and he laughs too. You look like an idiot.  
“Yes, yeah, I fucking love you.” you slide the ring on his finger, and when he hugs you, you melt against his chest, breathing in his scent.  
“I love you too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this first chapter! I'll probably update like once or twice a week. Please leave a comment or a kudos, I'd love to hear what you guys think!


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